ON  THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE 


f-'ron  tispiece. 


KWOOT 


THE  MASQUE  OF  LONDON.      WAPPING  OLD  STAIRS 

Quite  an  impossible  scene  ;  ihat  is  to  say,  impossible  to  realize 
on  a  stage.  But  I  wanted  to  know  for  once  what  it  felt  like  to  be 
mounting  up  impossible  ladders  and  beckoning  to  people  to  come 
up  after  me. 


BY    EDWARD 
GORDON\CRAIG 


BROWNE'S   BOOKSTORE 
CHICAGO 


first  printed  December  1911 
Second  Impression  January  101S 


Printed  in  Englomd. 


TO  THE  EVER  LIVING  GENIUS 
OF     THE     GREATEST    OF    ENGLISH    ARTISTS 

WILLIAM  BLAKE 

AND    TO    THE   ILLUSTRIOUS    MEMORY 

OF   HIS  WIFE 
THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 


0  PREFACE  0 

WHAT  should  be  said  as  Preface  ?  Should  one 
ask  for  forgiveness  from  those  one  unwit- 
tingly offends  ?  Should  one  admit  that  words  are 
all  nonsense,  and  that  theories,  even  after  one  has 
practised  that  about  which  one  theorizes,  are  really 
of  little  account  ?  Or  should  one  stand  on  the 
threshold  and  receive  one's  guests  and  hope  that 
they  will  enjoy  themselves  ?  I  think  I  shall  do 
the  latter. 

Well,  in  this  case,  my  guests  are  made  up  of  a 
thousand  invited  friends  and  those  half-dozen  one 
did  not  invite  and  never  would  invite,  because  of 
their  very  evil  or  foolish  intentions  towards  our  art. 
For  instance,  I  willingly  throw  open  the  doors  of 
this  book  to  my  very  dear  friends  the  artists, 
whether  they  be  painters,  sculptors,  musicians, 
poets  or  architects.  These,  of  course,  will  stand 
aside  for  a  moment  to  allow  first  of  all  the  beautiful 
ladies  to  pass.  Then  there  are  the  scholars.  Well, 
as  I  have  only  schooled  myself  in  one  particular 
branch  of  knowledge,  I  feel  very  shy  about  meeting 
such  guests. 

Coming  after  them  is  that  group  of  kindly  people, 
men  and  women,  who,  without  knowing  much  about 
art,  are  fond  of  it  and  encourage  its  growth.  These, 
I  am  happy  to  believe,  will  feel  at  home  here. 

Then  there  are  other  surprises,  those  engineers, 
those  directors  of  journals,  those  managers  of 
stores,  those  sea  captains,  men  who  startle  one  by 
suddenly  putting  in  an  appearance  and  expressing 
a  sincere  and  hearty  desire  to  join  in  the) festivities. 

Last  of  all,  there  is  what  is  known  as  the  theatrical 
profession.  How  many  of  these  will  accept  my  invi- 
tation ?  A  rare  few,  perhaps,  but  certainly  the  best. 

vii 


PREFACE 


So,  when  the  rest  of  us  have  all  assembled,  we  shall 
welcome  Hevesi,  from  Budapest ;  Stanislawski,  Sul- 
ergitski,  Mosquin,  and  Katchalof,  who  come  from 
Moscow ;  Meyerkhold,  who  comes  from  St.  Peters- 
burg; De  Vos,  from  Amsterdam;  Starke,  from 
Frankfurt;  Fuchs,  from  Munich;  Antoine,  Paul 
Fort  and  Madame  Guilbert,  from  Paris;  and  our 
great  poet  who  has  won  over  the  stage,  Yeats, 
from  Ireland;  and  after  these  the  shades  of 
Vallentin,  from  Berlin ;  Wyspiansky,  from  Krakow ; 
and  Appia  from  Italy. 

Least  of  all  are  the  uninvited  guests,  with 
their  cheap  cynicism  and  witty  remarks  which  are 
calculated  to  put  a  blight  upon  every  pleasant 
moment,  upon  every  achievement,  who  will  attempt 
to  rob  our  happy  gathering  of  all  enjoyment,  if 
they  can  possibly  do  so. 

Well,  let  us  hope  for  the  best,  that  these  people 
will  stay  away.  To  the  others  I  present  what  is 
within  the  house  and  beg  that  they  will  forever  hold 
towards  it  and  myself  good  thoughts. 

Being  in  my  own  house,  I  let  myself  go.  I  am 
not  careful  to  be  cautious  among  my  friends.  If 
I  were  to  do  so,  they  would  think  that  I  suspected 
them  of  being  spies. 

It  is  a  great  honour  for  me  to  feel  that  among 
my  friends  are  the  names  of  the  first  artists  in 
Europe.  And  I  think  we  can  all  feel  happy  on  the 
progress  which  our  movement  has  made,  a  move- 
ment which  is  destined  ultimately  to  restore  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre  into  its  ancient  position  among 
the  Fine  Arts. 

E.  G.  C 

London,  1911. 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


P1O1 

PREFACE vii 

INTRODUCTION xiii 

GOD  SAVE  THE  KING xv 

THE    ARTISTS    OF    THE    THEATRE    OF    THE 

FUTURE  1 

THE  ACTOR  AND  THE  UBER-MARIONETTE    .  54 

SOME   EVIL    TENDENCIES   OF  THE   MODERN 

THEATRE 95 

PLAYS  AND  PLAYWRIGHTS     .         .         .         .112 

THE  THEATRE   IN  RUSSIA,   GERMANY,  AND 

ENGLAND 125 

THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE  (!ST  DIALOGUE)  137 

THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE  (2ND  DIALOGUE)  182 

THE     GHOSTS     IN     THE      TRAGEDIES     OF 

SHAKESPEARE 264 

SHAKESPEARE'S  PLAYS   .        .        .        .        .  281 

REALISM  AND  THE  ACTOR      ....  286 

OPEN-AIR  THEATRES 289 

SYMBOLISM      .                 298 

THE  EXQUISITE  AND  THE  PRECIOUS     .        .  295 

ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY    EDWARD     GORDON    CRAIG 

SELECTED    FROM    HIS    COLLECTION    OF 
DESIGNS  FOR  STAGE  SCENES  AND  COSTUMES 

To  fact  p. 

MASQUE  OF  LONDON.    WAPPING  OLD  STAIRS 

(Prontixpircc) 

ELECTRA xiv 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.     A  DANCER   .  32 

JULIUS  CAESAR 48 

LANTERN  BEARERS 80 

JULIUS  CAESAR.    THE  FORUM       .        .        .  104 

HUNGER.     THE  SERVANTS      .        .        .        .112 

i 
MACBETH 118 

PEER  GYNT.     COSTUME 124 

HAMLET 136 

VENICE  PRESERVED.     PROPERTIES         .        .  148 

THE  VIKINGS.     COSTUME.     SIGURD       .        .  176 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET 224 

HUNGER.     THE  PROLOGUE     ....  262 

MACBETH.     A  WITCH 270 

MACBETH 280 

xi 


a     INTKODUCTION     a 

I  THINK  Mr.  Craig  is  the  truest  revolutionist  I 
have  ever  known,  because  he  demands  a  return 
to  the  most  ancient  traditions  of  which  we  can 
dream.  Revolution  and  revelation  are  not  far  each 
from  the  other,  and  he  gives  us  both.  His  torch, 
destined  to  set  on  fire  our  pseudo-Theatres,  our  mon- 
strous and  barbarous  play-houses,  has  been  kindled 
at  the  sacred  fires  of  the  most  ancient  arts.  He  dis- 
covered for  us  that  in  a  rope-dancer  there  may  be 
more  theatrical  art  than  in  an  up-to-date  actor 
reciting  from  his  memory  and  depending  on  his 
prompter.  I  am  sure  all  who  are  working  on  the 
stage  throughout  Europe,  creative  minds,  or  stage- 
managers  priding  themselves  on  their  being  creative 
minds,  cannot  be  but  most  grateful  to  Mr.  Craig, 
and  must  regard  all  that  is  and  shall  be  done  in  his 
honour  to  be  done  in  the  vital  interest  of  the  very 
Art  of  the  Theatre. 

For  more  than  a  hundred  years  there  have  been 
two  men  working  on  the  stage,  spoiling  almost 
all  that  is  to  be  called  Theatrical  Art.  These  two 
men  are  the  Realist  and  the  Machinist.  The 
Realist  offers  imitation  for  life,  and  the  Machinist 
tricks  in  place  of  marvels.  So  we  have  lost  the 
truth  and  the  marvel  of  life — that  is,  we  have  lost 
the  main  thing  possessed  by  the  art.  The  Art  of 
the  Theatre  as  pure  imitation  is  nothing  but  an 
alarming  demonstration  of  the  abundance  of  life 
and  the  narrowness  of  Art. 

It  is  like  the  ancient  example  of  the  child  who  was 
trying  to  empty  the  sea  with  a  shell,  and,  as  for  the 
wonderful  tricks  of  the  machinist,  they  may  be 
marvellous,  but  they  can  never  be  a  marvel.  A 
flying  machine  is  marvellous,  but  a  bird  is  a  marvel. 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 


To  the  true  Artist  common  life  is  a  marvel  and  Art 
more  abundant,  more  intense  and  more  living  than 
life  itself.  True  Art  is  always  discovering  the 
marvel  in  all  that  does  not  seem  to  be  marvellous 
at  all,  because  Art  is  not  imitation,  but  vision. 

That  is  the  great  discovery  of  Mr.  Craig  on  the 
stage.  He  found  the  forgotten  wonderland  with 
the  sleeping  beauty,  the  land  of  our  dreams  and 
wishes,  and  has  fought  for  it  with  the  gestures  of 
an  artist,  with  the  soul  of  a  child,  with  the  know- 
ledge of  a  student,  and  with  the  constancy  of  a 
lover.  He  has  done  the  greatest  service  to  the  Art 
in  which  we  are  so  profoundly  interested,  and  it  is 
a  great  happiness  for  us  all  that  he  comes  off  with 
flying  colours. 

He  has  his  admirers  and  followers  in  our  little 
Hungary,  the  whole  of  the  new  generation  being 
under  his  influence,  and,  without  any  disparage- 
ment to  the  great  merit  and  good  luck  of  Prof. 
Reinhardt,  we  Hungarians,  as  close  neighbours  and 
good  observers,  dare  say  that  almost  all  that  has 
been  done  in  Berlin  and  Dusseldorf,  in  Munich  or 
in  Manheim  for  the  last  ten  years  is  to  be  called 
the  success  of  Mr.  Craig. 

I  am  very  sorry  that  I  am  not  able  to  express 
all  that  I  feel  in  a  better  style.  But  I  am  writing 
in  a  language  which  is  not  mine,  and,  living  in  a 
country  cottage,  far  even  from  my  English  dic- 
tionaries, I  am  obliged  to  write  it  as  I  can,  and  not 
as  I  would. 


DR.  ALEXANDER  HEVESI, 

Dramaturg-Regisseur  of  the 

State  Theatre,  Budapest 


XIV 


ELECTRA.     SOPHOCLES 

A  vast  and  forbidding  doorway,  I  often  think,  still  remains  the 
best  background  for  any  tragedy — yet  when  I  am  told  by  the 
archaeologist,  who  enjoys  himself  in  the  dry  and  dusty  days  which 
are  gone,  that  vastness  and  nobility  of  line  are  unimportant,  and  that 
a  nice  little  wooden  stage  and  some  tasteful  hangings  about  eight 
to  ten  feet  high  will  serve,  I  am  so  ready  to  agree  that  I  sometimes 
wonder  whether  these  vast  doors  and  open  spaces,  these  shadows  and 
these  bursts  of  light  are  not  out  of  place. 

Of  course,  it  all  depends  whether  you  come  to  the  theatre  for  drama 
or  literature. 

If  you  come  for  drama,  then  let  the  whole  thing  live — not  alone  to 
the  brain,  but  through  the  eye  and  the  ear. 

If  you  come  for  a  literary  treat — best  catch  the  first  train  home 
and  own  up  to  having  made  a  blunder. 


[facefagf  xiv. 


GOD    SAVE    THE    KING 

"  It  is  meritorious  to  insist  on  forms.  Religion  and  all  else 
naturally  clothes  itself  in  forms.  All  substances  clothe  them- 
selves in  forms ;  but  there  are  suitable  true  forms,  and  then 
there  are  untrue  unsuitable.  As  the  briefest  definition  one 
might  say,  Forms  which  GROW  round  a  substance,  if  we  rightly 
understand  that,  will  correspond  to  the  real  Nature  and  purport 
of  it,  will  be  true,  good  ;  forms  which  are  consciously  put  round 
a  substance,  bad.  I  invite  you  to  reflect  on  this.  It  distinguishes 
true  from  false  in  Ceremonial  Form,  earnest  solemnity  from 
empty  pageant,  in  all  human  things." — CARLYLE. 

I  SPEAK  here  as  the  Artist,  and  though  all  artists 
labour  and  most  are  poor,  all  are  loyal,  all  are 
the  worshippers  of  Royalty.  If  there  is  a  thing  in 
the  world  that  I  love  it  is  a  symbol. 

If  there  is  a  symbol  of  heaven  that  I  can  bend 
my  knee  to  it  is  the  sky,  if  there  is  a  symbol  of  God, 
the  Sun.  As  for  the  smaller  things  which  I  can 
touch  I  am  not  content  to  believe  in  them,  as 
though  they  could  ever  be  the  thing.  This  I  must 
always  keep  as  something  precious.  All  I  ask  is  that 
I  may  be  allowed  to  see  it,  and  what  I  see  must  be 
superb.  Therefore  God  save  the  King  ! 

"  All  Architecture  is  what  you  do  to  it  when 
you  look  upon  it."  l  So  do  we  artists  feel  about 
Royalty,  and  see  it  more  splendid  and  more  noble 
than  any  others  can  ever  see  it.  And  if  my  King 
wanted  to  chop  off  my  head  I  think  I  would  submit 
cheerfully  and  daiice  to  the  block  for  the  sake  of 
preserving  my  ideal  of  Kingship. 

Kings  have  given  us  everything,  and  we  in  times 
gone  by  have  in  return  made  up  the  splendid  pro- 
cession which  follows  in  their  wake.  Kings  have 
not  stopped  giving  us  everything,  but  we,  alas,  have 

1  Whitman. 
XV 


o       GOD    SAVE    THE    KING!       o 

lately  given  up  forming  the  splendid  processions. 
We  have  lost  the  trick  of  it  because  we  are  losing 
the  old  power  of  our  eyes  and  our  other  senses. 
Our  senses — those  wonderful  servants  of  ours  over 
whom  we  reign  as  king — our  senses  have  rebelled. 
So  that  it  comes  to  this  :  that  we  on  our  part  have 
lost  our  royalty.  Our  senses  have  had  the  vanity 
and  the  impertinence  to  revolt.  This  is  infinitely 
disgusting.  Our  senses,  if  you  please,  are  permit- 
ting themselves  the  luxury  of  becoming  tired. 
They  want  another  ruler  than  the  Soul,  and  expect 
Jupiter  to  send  them  a  better.  We  have  pampered 
our  intellect  so  much  of  late,  have  searched  the 
archives  of  knowledge  at  so  great  an  expense, 
that  we  have  bargained  our  senses  away  to  our 
unimaginative  reason. 

It  costs  all  this  to  become  practical  to-day ;  our 
imagination  is  the  price  we  pay,  a  pretty  penny 
indeed.  It  seems  that  in  the  Garden  of  Paradise, 
the  world,  there  are  as  many  trees  of  knowledge 
as  there  are  men,  so  that  it  will  no  longer  do 
to  put  our  continual  yearly  "  fall "  down  to 
woman,  and  we  had  surely  better  try  to  support 
her  bitter  laughter  than  that  harsher  scorn  of  the 
gods. 

And  the  gods  are  laughing  !  My  God,  so  entirely 
peerless,  laughs  only  with  his  eyes.  He  laughs  on 
all  the  day,  and  I  hear  the  echo  of  his  laughter  all 
the  night.  But  I  know  how  nobly  all  has  been 
arranged  in  this  Garden,  for  my  God's  laughter  is 
as  the  song  of  Paradise  in  my  ears,  and  its  pale 
echo  soothes  me  to  sleep  through  the  night. 

And  as  surely  as  this  bounteous  laughter  pours 
down  on  me  by  day  and  flows  away  from  me  by 
night,  so  will  I  find  some  way  of  giving  thanks  for 

xvi 


^>       GOD    SAVE    THE    KING!       o 

it  all  :  thanksgiving  to  the  joyous  laughter  and  the 
Royal  comfort  that  it  brings. 

But  to  many  ears  this  laughter  of  the  Gods  is 
like  the  shrieking  of  a  storm,  and  these  people  raise 
their  eyebrows,  grumble,  and  pray  that  it  will 
pass. 

But  will  it  pass  ?  Will  it  not  shriek  in  their  ears 
until  they  be  dead,  until  they  have  lost  the  sense  of 
hearing  ? 

Better  would  it  be  for  these  beings  to  value  once 
more  their  most  noble  servants  the  senses,  and 
attempt  to  perceive  by  their  means  the  full  meaning 
of  the  voice  and  of  the  face  of  God.  And  when  they 
have  understood  that  they  will  see  the  full  meaning 
of  the  King. 

While  I  worship  the  sun  I  cannot  listen  to  the 
talk  which  twaddles  on  about  the  tyranny  of  kings. 
The  Sun  is  for  me  the  greatest  of  tyrants ;  that,  in 
fact,  is  part  of  my  reason  for  loving  the  Sun. 

All  truth,  the  truth  of  tyranny  no  less  than  the 
truth  of  slavery,  is  illumined  by  the  Sun.  From 
the  marble  columns  of  Mount  Carrara  to  the  wrinkle 
on  the  face  of  my  nurse,  all  is  laid  bare  for  me  and 
illumined  by  his  light;  nothing  escapes  the  eye  of 
God.  He  is  a  terrible  God  to  those  who  fear  to 
be  burnt  by  him.  From  these  he  will  "  breed 
maggots." 

The  Beautiful  and  the  Terrible.  Which  is  which 
will  never  be  put  into  words.  But  I  am  free  to  tell 
myself;  and,  let  me  but  preserve  the  senses — my 
eyes,  my  ears,  my  touch,  and  all  shall  be  well — all 
shall  seem  far  more  beautiful  than  terrible. 

For  not  only  do  these  servants  of  our  Royalty 
help  to  idealize  all  things  for  us,  but  they  also 
help  to  fix  a  limit  to  our  vanity.  By  their  help 

xvii 


0  GOD    S  AV  E    THE    KIN  G  !       o 

1  recognize  my  God  as  he  rises  like  the  spirit  of 
Imagination  from  the  East  and  sails  across  the  blue 
straits  of  heaven. 

If  I  had  lost  the  sense  of  sight  I  should  be  unable 
to  see  this  glory,  and,  not  seeing  it,  I  should  demand 
other  miracles  from  it  than  Happiness  may  expect. 
I  should  look  for  it  to  work  some  practical  daily 
miracle  in  vain.  Whereas,  seeing  this  daily  glory, 
this  Sun,  I  know  that  the  miracle  comes  and  goes, 
that  the  miracle  is  just  the  passage  of  this  symbol  of 
the  Divine,  this  seeming  motion  of  the  Sun  from 
east  to  west. 

And  that  seeming  motion  of  this  God  is  enough 
for  man  to  know.  Mystic  voices  seem  to  cry, 
"  Seek  to  know  no  more  " ;  and  we  answer  rebel- 
liously,  "  I  will  be  satisfied ;  deny  me  this  and  an 
eternal  curse  fall  on  ye." 

"Show  his  eyes  and  grieve  his  heart, 
Come  like  shadows,  so  depart." 

This  seeking  to  know  more — this  desire  of  the 
brain — threatens  to  rob  our  senses  of  their  vitality ; 
our  eyes  may  become  dim  till  we  shall  no  longer 
recognize  the  God  before  us,  nor  the  King  as  he 
passes  along  our  way.  Our  ears  seem  to  be  deaf; 
we  begin  not  to  hear  the  song  of  Paradise,  we  fail 
to  pick  up  the  chorus  which  follows  in  the  wake  of 
Royalty.  Our  touch,  too,  is  growing  coarse.  The 
hem  of  the  robes'  brocade  was  once  pleasant  to 
our  fingers'  touch;  to  touch  the  silken  glove  with 
our  lips  was  once  a  privilege  and  a  luxury.  Now  we 
have  become  the  mob ;  ambition's  aim,  oh  noble 
consummation !  Afraid  any  longer  to  serve  like 
noblemen,  we  must  slave  like  thieves,  having  robbed 
ourselves  of  our  greatest  possession,  our  fine  senses. 

xviii 


o       GOD    SAVE    THE    KING!       o 

We  are  becoming  veritable  slaves  chained  together 
by  circumstances,  refusing  daily  to  be  released  by 
our  imagination,  that  only  power  which  achieves 
true  Freedom. 

But  for  me,  I  am  a  free  man,  by  the  grace  of 
Royalty.     Long  live  the  King  ! 

E.  G.  C. 

l-'/orence,  1911. 


XIX 


THE  AETISTS  OF  THE 
THEATRE  OF  THE  FUTURE 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  YOUNG  RACE  OF 
ATHLETIC  WORKERS  IN  ALL  THE  THEATRES. 

SECOND  THOUGHTS.  I  DEDICATE  THIS  TO 
THE  SINGLE  COURAGEOUS  INDIVIDUALITY 
IN  THE  WORLD  OF  THE  THEATRE  WHO 
WILL  SOME  DAY  MASTER  AND  REMOULD  IT. 

THEY  say  that  second  thoughts  are  best.  They 
also  say  it  is  good  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job, 
and  it  is  merely  making  the  best  of  a  bad  job  that 
I  am  forced  to  alter  my  first  and  more  optimistic 
dedication  to  my  second.  Therefore  the  second 
thoughts  are  best.  What  a  pity  and  what  a  pain 
to  me  that  we  should  be  obliged  to  admit  it !  No 
such  race  of  athletic  workers  in  the  Theatre  of  to- 
day exists ;  degeneration,  both  physical  and  mental, 
is  round  us.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Per- 
haps no  surer  sign  of  it  can  be  pointed  to  than  that 
all  those  whose  work  lies  in  the  Theatre  are  to  be 
continually  heard  announcing  that  all  is  well  and 
that  the  Theatre  is  to-day  at  its  highest  point  of 
development. 

But  if  all  were  well,  no  desire  for  a  change  would 

spring  up  instinctively  and  continually  as  it  ever 

does  in  those  who  visit  or  ponder  on  the  modern 

Theatre.      It   is   because   the   Theatre   is   in   this 

B 


DEDI  C  A  TI  ON 


wretched  state  that  it  becomes  necessary  that 
some  one  shall  speak  as  I  do;  and  then  I  look 
around  me  for  those  to  whom  I  can  speak  and  for 
those  who  will  listen  and,  listening,  understand; 
and  I  see  nothing  but  backs  turned  towards  me, 
the  backs  of  a  race  of  unathletic  workers.  Still 
the  individual,  the  boy  or  man  of  personal  courage, 
faces  me.  Him  I  see,  and  in  him  I  see  the  force 
which  shall  create  the  race  to  come.  Therefore  to 
him  I  speak,  and  I  am  content  that  he  alone  shall 
understand  me.  It  is  the  man  who  will,  as  Blake 
says,  "  leave  father,  mother,  houses  and  lands  if 
they  stand  in  the  way  of  his  art  "  ;  it  is  the  man 
who  will  give  up  personal  ambition  and  the  tem- 
porary success  of  the  moment,  he  who  will  cease  to 
desire  an  agreeable  wealth  of  smooth  guineas,  but 
who  shall  demand  as  his  reward  nothing  less  than 
the  restoration  of  his  home,  its  liberty,  its  health, 
its  power.  It  is  to  him  I  speak. 

YOU  are  a  young  man  ;  you  have  already  been  a 
few  years  in  a  theatre,  or  you  have  been  born 
of  theatrical  parents  ;  or  you  have  been  a  painter  for 
a  while  but  have  felt  the  longing  towards  move- 
ment ;  or  you  have  been  a  manufacturer.  Perhaps 
you  quarrelled  with  your  parents  when  you  were 
eighteen,  because  you  wished  to  go  on  the  stage, 
and  they  would  not  let  you.  They  perhaps  asked 
why  you  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage,  and  you  could 

give  no  reasonable  answer  because  you  wanted  to 

2 


/    WANT    TO    FLY* 


do  that  which  no  reasonable  answer  could  explain  ; 
in  other  words,  you  wanted  to  fly.  And  had  you 
said  to  your  parents,  "  I  want  to  fly,"  I  think  that 
you  would  have  probably  got  further  than  had  you 
alarmed  them  with  the  terrible  words,  "  I  want  to 
go  on  the  stage." 

Millions  of  such  men  have  had  the  same  desire, 
this  desire  for  movement,  this  desire  to  fly,  this 
desire  to  be  merged  in  some  other  creature's  being, 
and  not  knowing  that  it  was  the  desire  to  live  in 
the  imagination,  some  have  answered  their  parents, 
"  I  want  to  be  an  actor;  I  want  to  go  on  the 
stage." 

It  is  not  that  which  they  want  ;  and  the  tragedy 
begins.  I  think  when  walking,  disturbed  with 
this  newly  awakened  feeling,  a  young  man  will  say, 
"  perhaps  I  want  to  be  an  actor  "  ;  and  it  is  only 
when  in  the  presence  of  the  irate  parents  that  in 
his  desperation  he  turns  the  "  perhaps  "  into  the 
definite  "  I  want." 

This  is  probably  your  case.  You  want  to  fly; 
you  want  to  exist  in  some  other  state,  to  be  in- 
toxicated with  the  air,  and  to  create  this  state  in 
others. 

Try  and  get  out  of  your  head  now  that  you  really 
want  "to  go  on  the  stage."  If,  unfortunately,  you 
are  upon  the  stage,  try  and  get  out  of  your  head 
then  that  you  want  to  be  an  actor  and  that  it  is  the 
end  of  all  your  desires.  Let  us  say  that  you  are 
already  an  actor  ;  you  have  been  so  for  four  or  five 
B  2  3 


OBEDIENCE    TO     YOUR    MASTER 

years,  and  already  some  strange  doubt  has  crept 
upon  you.  You  will  not  admit  it  to  any  one ;  your 
parents  would  apparently  seem  to  have  been  right ; 
you  will  not  admit  it  to  yourself,  for  you  have 
nothing  else  but  this  one  thing  to  cheer  yourself 
with.  But  I'm  going  to  give  you  all  sorts  of  things 
to  cheer  yourself  with,  and  you  may  with  courage 
and  complete  good  spirits  throw  what  you  will  to 
the  winds  and  yet  lose  nothing  of  that  which  you 
stood  up  for  in  the  beginning.  You  may  remain  on, 
yet  be  above  the  stage. 

I  shall  give  you  the  value  of  my  experience  for 
what  it  is  worth,  and  may  be  it  will  be  of  some  use 
to  you.  I  shall  try  to  sift  what  is  important  for  us 
from  what  is  unimportant ;  and  if  while  I  am  telling 
you  all  this  you  want  any  doubts  cleared  or  any 
more  exact  explanations  or  details,  you  have  only 
to  ask  me  for  them  and  I  am  ready  to  serve  you. 

To  begin  with,  you  have  accepted  an  engagement 
from  the  manager  of  the  Theatre.  You  must  serve 
him  faithfully,  not  because  he  is  paying  you  a  salary, 
but  because  you  are  working  under  him.  And  with 
this  obedience  to  your  manager  comes  the  first  and 
the  greatest  temptation  which  you  will  encounter  in 
your  whole  work. 

Because  you  must  not  merely  obey  his  words 
but  his  wishes ;  and  yet  you  must  not  lose  yourself. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  you  must  not  lose  your  person- 
ality, because  it  is  probable  your  personality  has 
not  come  to  its  complete  form.  But  you  must  not 

4 


^OBEDIENCE     TO     NATURE^ 

lose  sight  of  that  which  you  are  in  quest  of,  you 
must  not  lose  the  first  feeling  which  possessed  you 
when  you  seemed  to  yourself  to  be  in  movement 
with  a  sense  of  swinging  upwards. 

While  serving  your  apprenticeship  under  your 
first  manager  listen  to  all  he  has  to  say  and  all  he 
can  show  you  about  the  theatre,  about  acting,  and 
go  further  for  yourself  and  search  out  that  which 
he  does  not  show  you.  Go  where  they  are  painting 
the  scenes ;  go  where  they  are  twisting  the  electric 
wires  for  the  lamps ;  go  beneath  the  stage  and  look 
at  the  elaborate  constructions;  go  up  over  the 
stage  and  ask  for  information  about  the  ropes  and 
the  wheels ;  but  while  you  are  learning  all  this  about 
the  Theatre  and  about  acting  be  very  careful  to 
remember  that  outside  the  world  of  the  Theatre 
you  will  find  greater  inspiration  than  inside  it :  I 
mean  in  nature.  The  other  sources  of  inspiration 
are  music  and  architecture. 

I  tell  you  to  do  this  because  you  will  not  have  it 
told  you  by  your  manager.  In  the  Theatre  they 
study  from  the  Theatre.  They  take  the  Theatre 
as  their  source  of  inspiration,  and  if  at  times  some 
actors  go  to  nature  for  assistance,  it  is  to  one  part  of 
nature  only,  to  that  which  manifests  itself  in  the 
human  being. 

This  was  not  so  with  Henry  Irving,  but  I  cannot 
stop  here  to  tell  you  of  him,  for  it  would  mean  letter 
upon  letter  to  put  the  thing  clearly  before  you.  But 
you  can  remember  that  as  actor  he  was  unfailingly 

5 


HENRY    IRVING 


right,  and  that  he  studied  all  nature  in  order  to 
find  symbols  for  the  expression  of  his  thoughts. 

You  will  be  probably  told  that  this  man,  whom  I 
hold  up  to  you  as  a  peerless  actor,  did  such  and  such 
a  thing  in  such  and  such  a  way  ;  and  you  will  doubt 
my  counsel  ;  but  with  all  respect  to  your  present 
manager  you  must  be  very  careful  how  much 
credence  you  give  to  what  he  says  and  to  what  he 
shows,  for  it  is  upon  such  tradition  that  the  Theatre 
has  existed  and  has  degenerated. 

What  Henry  Irving  did  is  one  thing  ;  what  they 
tell  you  he  did  is  another.  I  have  had  some 
experience  of  this.  I  played  in  the  same  Theatre 
as  Irving  in  Macbeth,  and  later  on  I  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  playing  Macbeth  myself  in  a  theatre  in 
the  north  or  the  south  of  England.  I  was  curious 
to  know  how  much  would  strike  a  capable  and 
reliable  actor  of  the  usual  fifteen  years'  experience, 
especially  one  who  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
Henry  Irving.  I  therefore  asked  him  to  be  good 
enough  to  show  me  how  Irving  had  treated  this  or 
that  passage  ;  what  he  had  done  and  what  impres- 
sion he  had  created,  because  it  had  slipped  my 
memory.  The  competent  actor  thereupon  revealed 
to  my  amazed  intelligence  something  so  banal,  so 
clumsy,  and  so  lacking  in  distinction,  that  I  began 
to  understand  how  much  value  was  in  tradition; 
and  I  have  had  several  such  experiences. 

I  have  been  shown  by  a  competent  and  worthy 
actress  how  Mrs.  Siddons  played  Lady  Macbeth. 

6 


*>  IN  CORRECT    TRADITION^ 

She  would  move  to  the  centre  of  the  stage  and  would 
begin  to  make  certain  movements  and  certain 
exclamations  which  she  believed  to  be  a  repro- 
duction of  what  Mrs.  Siddons  had  done.  I  presume 
she  had  received  these  from  some  one  who  had  seen 
Mrs.  Siddons.  The  things  which  she  showed  me 
were  utterly  worthless  in  so  far  as  they  had  no 
unity,  although  one  action  here,  another  action 
there,  would  have  some  kind  of  reflected  value; 
and  so  I  began  to  see  the  uselessness  of  this  kind  of 
tuition;  and  it  being  my  nature  to  rebel  against 
those  who  would  force  upon  me  something  which 
seemed  to  me  unintelligent,  I  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  such  teaching. 

I  do  not  recommend  you  to  do  the  same,  although 
you  will  disregard  what  I  say  and  do  as  I  did  if 
you  have  much  of  the  volcano  in  you ;  but  you  will 
do  better  to  listen,  accept  and  adapt  that  which 
they  tell  you,  remembering  that  this  your  apprentice- 
ship as  actor  is  but  the  very  beginning  of  an  exceed- 
ingly long  apprenticeship  as  craftsman  in  all  the 
crafts  which  go  to  make  up  the  art. 

When  you  have  studied  these  thoroughly  you  will 
find  some  which  are  of  value,  and  you  will  certainly 
find  that  the  experience  as  actor  has  been  necessary. 
The  pioneer  seldom  finds  an  easy  road,  and  as  your 
way  does  not  end  in  becoming  a  celebrated  actor 
but  is  a  much  longer  and  an  untrodden  way  leading 
to  a  very  different  end,  you  will  have  all  the  advan- 
tages and  the  disadvantages  of  pioneering;  but 

7 


0  THE     END     IN     VIEW  ^ 

keep  in  mind  what  I  have  told  you  :  that  your  aim 
is  not  to  become  a  celebrated  actor,  it  is  not  to  be- 
come the  manager  of  a  so-called  successful  theatre ; 
it  is  not  to  become  the  producer  of  elaborate  and 
much-talked-of  plays ;  it  is  to  become  an  artist  of 
the  Theatre ;  and  as  a  base  to  all  this  you  must,  as 

1  have  said,  serve  your  term  of  apprenticeship  as 
actor  faithfully  and  well.     If  at  the  end  of  five  years 
as  actor  you  are  convinced  that  you  know  what 
your  future  will  be ;  if,  in  fact,  you  are  succeeding, 
you  may  give  yourself  up  for  lost.     Short  cuts  lead 
nowhere  in  this  world.     Did  you  think  when  the 
longing  came  upon  you  and  when  you  told  your 
family  that  you  must  go  upon  the  stage  that  such 
a,  great  longing  was  to  be  so  soon  satisfied  ?     Is  satis- 
faction so  small  a  thing  ?  Is  desire  a  thing  of  nothing, 
that  a  five  years'  quest  can  make  a  parody  of  it  ? 
But  of  course  not.     Your  Avhole  life  is  not  too  long, 
and  then  only  at  the  very  end  will  some  small  atom 
of  what  you  have  desired  come  to  you.     And  so  you 
will  be  still  young  when  you  are  full  of  years. 

o  ON    THE    ACTOR 

As  a  man  he  ranks  high,  possesses  generosity, 
and  the  truest  sense  of  comradeship.  I  call  to  mind 
one  actor  whom  I  know  and  who  shall  stand  as  the 
type.  A  genial  companion,  and  spreading  a  sense 
of  companionship  in  the  theatre;  generous  in 
giving  assistance  to  vounger  and  less  accomplished 

8 


actors,  continually  speaking  about  the  work, 
picturesque  in  his  manner,  able  to  hold  his  own 
when  standing  at  the  side  of  the  stage  instead  of 
in  the  centre ;  with  a  voice  which  commands  my 
attention  when  I  hear  it,  and,  finally,  with  about  as 
much  knowledge  of  the  art  as  a  cuckoo  has  of  any- 
thing which  is  at  all  constructive.  Anything  to 
be  made  according  to  plan  or  design  is  foreign  to 
his  nature.  But  his  good  nature  tells  him  that 
others  are  on  the  stage  besides  himself,  and  that 
there  must  be  a  certain  feeling  of  unity  between 
their  thoughts  and  his,  yet  this  arrives  by  a  kind  of 
good-natured  instinct  and  not  through  knowledge, 
and  produces  nothing  positive.  Instinct  and  expe- 
rience have  taught  him  a  few  things  (I  am  not 
going  to  call  them  tricks),  which  he  continually 
repeats.  For  instance,  he  has  learned  that  the 
sudden  drop  in  the  voice  from  forte  to  piano  has 
the  power  of  accentuating  and  thrilling  the  audience 
as  much  as  the  crescendo  from  the  piano  into  the 
forte.  He  also  knows  that  laughter  is  capable  of 
very  many  sounds,  and  not  merely  Ha,  Ha,  Ha.  He 
knows  that  geniality  is  a  rare  thing  on  the  stage 
and  that  the  bubbling  personality  is  always  wel- 
comed. But  what  he  does  not  know  is  this,  that 
this  same  bubbling  personality  and  all  this  same 
instinctive  knowledge  doubles  or  even  trebles  its 
power  when  guided  by  scientific  knowledge,  that 
is  to  say,  by  art.  If  he  should  hear  me  say  this  now 
he  would  be  lost  in  amazement  and  would  consider 

9 


0  THE    CREATIVE    POWER     o 

that  I  was  saying  something  which  was  finicking, 
dry,  and  not  at  all  for  the  consideration  of  an  artist. 
He  is  one  who  thinks  that  emotion  creates  emotion, 
and  hates  anything  to  do  with  calculation.  It  is 
not  necessary  for  me  to  point  out  that  all  art  has 
to  do  with  calculation,  and  that  the  man  who  dis- 
regards this  can  only  be  but  half  an  actor.  Nature 
will  not  alone  supply  all  which  goes  to  create  a 
work  of  art,  for  it  is  not  the  privilege  of  trees,  moun- 
tains and  brooks  to  create  works  of  art,  or  every- 
thing which  they  touch  would  be  given  a  definite 
and  beautiful  form.  It  is  the  particular  power 
which  belongs  to  man  alone,  and  to  him  through 
his  intelligence  and  his  will.  My  friend  probably 
thinks  that  Shakespeare  wrote  Othello  in  a  passion 
of  jealousy  and  that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  write 
the  first  words  which  came  into  his  mouth;  but 

1  am  of  the  opinion,  and  I  think  others  hold  the 
same  opinion,  that  the  words  had  to  pass  through 
our  author's  head,  and  that  it  was  just  through  this 
process  and  through  the  quality  of  his  imagination 
and  the  strength  of  his  brain  that  the  richness  of 
his  nature  was  able  to  be  entirely  and  clearly  ex- 
pressed, and  by  no  other  process  could  he  have 
arrived  at  this. 

Therefore  it  follows  that  the  actor  who  wishes  to 
perform  Othello,  let  us  say,  must  have  not  only  the 
rich  nature  from  which  to  draw  his  wealth,  but  must 
also  have  the  imagination  to  know  what  to  bring 
forth,  and  the  brain  to  know  how  to  put  it  before 

10 


o  THE    IDEAL    ACTOR  o 

us.  Therefore  the  ideal  actor  will  be  the  man  who 
possesses  both  a  rich  nature  and  a  powerful  brain. 
Of  his  nature  we  need  not  speak.  It  will  contain 
everything.  Of  his  brain  we  can  say  that  the  finer 
the  brain  the  less  liberty  will  it  allow  itself,  re- 
membering how  much  depends  upon  its  co-worker, 
the  Emotion,  and  also  the  less  liberty  will  it  allow 
its  fellow-worker,  knowing  how  valuable  to  it  is  its 
sternest  control.  Finally,  the  intellect  would  bring 
both  itself  and  the  emotions  to  so  fine  a  sense  of 
reason  that  the  work  would  never  boil  to  the 
bubbling  point  with  its  restless  exhibition  of 
activity,  but  would  create  that  perfect  moderate 
heat  which  it  would  know  how  to  keep  temperate. 
The  perfect  actor  would  be  he  whose  brain  could 
conceive  and  could  show  us  the  perfect  symbols  of 
all  which  his  nature  contains.  He  would  not  ramp 
and  rage  up  and  down  in  Othello,  rolling  his  eyes 
and  clenching  his  hands  in  order  to  give  us  an  im- 
pression of  jealousy;  he  would  tell  his  brain  to 
inquire  into  the  depths,  to  learn  all  that  lies  there, 
and  then  to  remove  itself  to  another  sphere,  the 
sphere  of  the  imagination,  and  there  fashion  certain 
symbols  which,  without  exhibiting  the  bare  passions, 
would  none  the  less  tell  us  clearly  about  them. 

And  the  perfect  actor  who  should  do  this  would 
in  time  find  out  that  the  symbols  are  to  be  made 
mainly  from  material  which  lies  outside  his  person. 
But  I  will  speak  to  you  fully  about  this  when  I  get 
to  the  end  of  our  talk.  For  then  I  shall  show  you 

11 


THE    FACE    OF    HENRY    IRVING 

that  the  actor  as  he  is  to-day  must  ultimately 
disappear  and  be  merged  in  something  else  if  works 
of  art  are  to  be  seen  in  our  kingdom  of  the  Theatre.1 
Meantime  do  not  forget  that  the  very  nearest 
approach  that  has  ever  been  to  the  ideal  actor,  with 
his  brain  commanding  his  nature,  has  been  Henry 
Irving.  There  are  many  books  which  tell  you 
about  him,  and  the  best  of  all  the  books  is  his  face. 
Procure  all  the  pictures,  photographs,  drawings, 
you  can  of  him,  and  try  to  read  what  is  there.  To 
begin  with  you  will  find  a  mask,  and  the  signifi- 
cance of  this  is  most  important.  I  think  you  will 
find  it  difficult  to  say  when  you  look  on  the  face, 
that  it  betrays  the  weaknesses  which  may  have 
been  in  the  nature.  Try  and  conceive  for  yourself 
that  face  in  movement — movement  which  was  ever 
under  the  powerful  control  of  the  mind.  Can  you 
not  see  the  mouth  being  made  to  move  by  the  brain, 
and  that  same  movement  which  is  called  expression 
creating  a  thought  as  definite  as  the  line  of  a 
draughtsman  does  on  a  piece  of  paper  or  as  a  chord 
does  in  music  ?  Cannot  you  see  the  slow  turning 
of  those  eyes  and  the  enlargement  of  them  ?  These 
two  movements  alone  contained  so  great  a  lesson 
for  the  future  of  the  art  of  the  theatre,  pointed  out 
so  clearly  the  right  use  of  expression  as  opposed  to 
the  wrong  use,  that  it  is  amazing  to  me  that  many 
people  have  not  seen  more  clearly  what  the  future 
must  be.  I  should  say  that  the  face  of  Irving  was 

1  See  The  Actor  and  the  liber-Marionette,"  p.  54. 
12 


THE    MASK     AS     THE    MEDIUM 

the  connecting  link  between  that  spasmodic  and 
ridiculous  expression  of  the  human  face  as  used  by 
the  theatres  of  the  last  few  centuries,  and  the  masks 
which  will  be  used  in  place  of  the  human  face  in  the 
near  future. 

Try  and  think  of  all  this  when  losing  hope  that 
you  will  ever  bring  your  nature  as  exhibited  in  your 
face  and  your  person  under  sufficient  command. 
Know  for  a  truth  that  there  is  something  other 
than  your  face  and  your  person  which  you  may 
use  and  which  is  easier  to  control.  Know  this, 
but  make  no  attempt  yet  awhile  to  close  with  it. 
Continue  to  be  an  actor,  continue  to  learn  all  that 
has  to  be  learned,  as  to  how  they  set  about  con- 
trolling the  face,  and  then  you  will  learn  finally 
that  it  is  not  to  be  entirely  controlled. 

I  give  you  this  hope  so  that  when  this  moment 
arrives  you  will  not  do  as  the  other  actors  have 
done.  They  have  been  met  by  this  difficulty  and 
have  shirked  it,  have  compromised,  and  have  not 
dared  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion  which  an  artist 
must  arrive  at  if  faithful  to  himself.  That  is  to  say, 
that  the  mask  is  the  only  right  medium  of  portray- 
ing the  expressions  of  the  soul  as  shown  through  the 
expressions  of  the  face. 

o     ON    THE    STAGE-MANAGER     <^ 

After  you  have  been  an  actor  you  must  become  a 
stage-manager.  Rather  a  misleading  title  this, 

13 


MASTER     OF     THE     THEATRE 

for  you  will  not  be  permitted  to  manage  the  stage. 
It  is  a  peculiar  position,  and  you  can  but  benefit 
by  the  experience,  though  the  experience  will  not 
bring  either  great  delights  to  you  or  great  results  to 
the  theatre  in  which  you  work.  How  well  it  sounds, 
this  title,  Stage-manager  !  it  indicates  "  Master  of 
the  science  of  the  stage." 

Every  theatre  has  a  stage-manager,  yet  I  fear 
there  are  no  masters  of  the  stage  science.  Perhaps 
already  you  are  an  under  stage-manager.  You  will 
therefore  remember  the  proud  joy  you  felt  when 
you  were  sent  for,  and,  with  some  solemn  words, 
informed  that  your  manager  had  decided  to  advance 
you  to  the  position  of  stage-manager,  and  begged  to 
remind  you  of  the  importance  of  the  post,  and  of 
the  additional  one  or  two  pennies  that  go  with  the 
situation.  I  suppose  that  you  thought  that  the 
great  and  last  wonderful  day  of  your  dream  had 
arrived,  and  you  held  your  head  a  little  higher  for 
a  week,  and  looked  down  on  the  vast  land  which 
seemed  to  stretch  out  before  you. 

But  after  then,  what  was  it  ?  Am  I  not  right 
in  saying  that  it  meant  an  early  attendance  at  the 
theatre  to  see  after  the  carpenters,  and  whether 
the  nails  had  been  ordered,  and  whether  the  cards 
were  fixed  to  the  doors  of  the  dressing-rooms  ? 
Am  I  not  right  in  saying  that  you  had  to  descend 
again  to  the  stage  and  stand  around  waiting  to  see 
if  things  were  done  to  time  ?  whether  the  scenery 
was  brought  in  and  hung  up  to  time  ?  Did  not 

14 


GENERAL    UTILITY  MAN   TO-DAY 

the  costumiere  come  tearfully  to  you  saying  that 
some  one  had  taken  a  dress  from  its  box  and  sub- 
stituted another  ?  Did  you  not  request  the 
costumiere  to  bring  the  offending  party  before 
you  ?  and  did  you  not  have  to  manage  these  two 
in  some  tactful  way  so  as  to  offend  neither  of  them, 
and  yet  so  as  to  get  at  the  truth  of  the  matter  ? 
And  did  you  ever  get  at  the  truth  of  the  matter  ? 
And  did  these  two  go  away  nursing  anything  but  a 
loathed  hate  towards  you  ?  Put  the  best  case,  one 
of  them  liked  you,  and  the  other  began  to  intrigue 
against  you  the  next  hour.  Did  you  find  yourself 
still  on  the  stage  at  about  half-past  ten,  and  did 
not  the  actors  arrive  at  that  hour  apparently  in 
total  ignorance  that  you  had  been  there  already 
four  hours,  and  with  their  superb  conviction  that 
the  doors  of  the  theatre  had  just  that  moment  been 
opened  because  they  had  arrived  ?  And  did  not  at 
least  six  of  these  actors  in  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour  come  up  to  you  and  with  an  "  I  say,  old  chap," 
or  "  Look  here,  old  fellow,"  start  asking  you  to 
arrange  something  for  them  on  the  stage  so  as  to 
make  their  task  a  little  easier  ?  And  were  not  the 
things  which  they  asked  all  so  opposed  one  to  the 
other,  that  to  assist  any  one  actor  would  have  been 
to  offend  the  other  five  ?  Having  told  them  that 
you  would  do  your  best,  were  you  not  relieved  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  the  director  of  the 
theatre,  generally  the  chief  actor  ?  And  did  you 
not  instantly  go  to  him  with  the  different  requests 

15 


THE    REHEARSAL 


which  had  been  made  to  you,  hoping  that  he,  as 
master,  would  take  the  responsibility  of  arranging 
all  these  difficult  matters  ?  And  did  he  not  reply 
to  you,  "  Don't  bother  me  with  these  details  ; 
please  do  what  you  think  best,"  and  did  not  you 
then  instantly  know  in  your  heart  that  the  whole 
thing  was  a  farce  —  the  title,  the  position,  and 
all? 

And  then  the  rehearsal  commenced.  The  first 
words  are  spoken  ;  the  first  difficulty  arrives.  The 
play  opens  with  a  conversation  between  two  gentle- 
men seated  at  a  table.  Having  gone  on  for  about 
five  minutes,  the  director  interrupts  with  a  gentle 
question.  He  asks  if  he  is  not  correct  in  saying 
that  at  yesterday's  rehearsal  Mr.  Brown  rose  at  this 
or  that  line,  twisting  his  chair  back  with  a  sudden 
movement  ?  The  actor,  a  trifle  distressed  that  he 
has  been  the  cause  of  the  first  delay  in  the  day's 
proceedings,  and  yet  not  wishing  to  take  any  fault 
to  himself,  asks  with  equal  courtesy,  "  Are  these  the 
chairs  which  we  are  supposed  to  use  on  the  night  ?  " 
The  director  turns  to  the  stage-manager,  and  asks 
him,  "  Are  these  the  chairs  we  use  upon  the  night  ?  " 
"  No,  sir,"  replies  the  stage-manager.  A  momen- 
tary look  of  disapproval,  ever  so  slight,  passes  from 
the  director,  and  is  reflected  upon  the  faces  of  the 
two  actors,  and  a  little  restless  wind  passes  round 
the  theatre.  It  is  the  first  little  hitch.  "  I  think 
it  would  be  best  to  use  at  rehearsal  the  chairs  we 
are  going  to  use  on  the  night."  "  Certainly,  sir  !  " 

16 


THE    REHEARSAL 


The  stage-manager  claps  his  hands.  "  Isherwood," 
he  cries.  A  thin,  sad-looking  little  man,  with  a 
mask  which  is  impenetrable  on  account  of  its 
extreme  sadness,  comes  on  to  the  stage  and  stands 
before  the  judgment  seat.  He  hesitates.  "  We 
shall  use  the  chairs  at  rehearsal  which  have  been 
ordered  for  this  scene."  "  No  chairs,  sir,  have  been 
ordered  for  this  scene."  The  wind  rises.  A  sharp 
flash  of  lightning  shows  itself  on  the  face  of  the 
director,  and  a  sudden  frown  of  thunder  hangs  upon 
the  brows  of  the  actors.  The  stage-manager  asks 
to  see  the  property  list,  that  is  to  say,  the  list  of 
things  used  in  the  scene.  Isherwood  casts  his  eyes 
pathetically  across  the  desert  of  the  stage  in  search 
of  the  leading  lady.  Being  the  wife  of  the  director, 
she  has  seen  no  reason  for  arriving  in  time.  When 
she  arrives  she  will  have  the  look  upon  her  face  of 
having  been  concerned  with  more  important  busi- 
ness elsewhere.  Isherwood  replies,  "  I  had  orders, 
sir,  to  put  these  two  chairs  in  Scene  II,  as  they  are 
chairs  with  pink  and  red  brocade."  Great  moment 
for  the  director.  Thunder-clap.  "  Who  gave  you 
these  orders  ?  "  "  Miss  Jones."  [Miss  Jones  is 
the  daughter  of  the  leading  lady,  who  is  the  wife  of 
the  director.  Her  position  is  not  defined  in  the 
theatre,  but  she  may  be  said  to  "  assist  her 
mother."]  Hence  the  absence  of  the  chairs. 
Hence  the  irritation  of  the  entire  company.  Hence 
the  waste  of  time  in  many  theatres  and  certainly  in 
many  English  theatres. 
c  17 


WHY     A     GOOD    EXPERIENCE 

This  is  but  one  and  the  first  trial  of  the  stage- 
manager,  who  rather  plays  the  part  of  the  tyre  than 
the  axle  of  the  wheel  of  the  stage.  The  rehearsal 
continues.  The  stage-manager  has  to  be  there  all 
the  time  with  but  little  control  and  permitted  to 
have  less  opinions,  and  yet  held  responsible  for  all 
errors ;  and  after  it  is  over,  while  the  actors  may 
retire  to  their  luncheon,  he  must  retire  to  the 
property  room,  the  scene-painting  room,  the  carpen- 
ters' room — must  hear  all  their  grievances,  must  see 
everything  being  delayed ;  and  when  the  company 
returns  to  the  theatre  fresh  after  a  pause  of  an  hour 
or  so  he  is  expected  to  be  as  fresh  and  as  good- 
humoured  without  a  break  of  a  minute.  This  would 
be  an  easy  and  pleasant  matter  if  he  had  the 
authority  of  his  title;  that  is  to  say,  if  in  his 
contract  lay  the  words  "  entire  and  absolute  control 
of  the  stage  and  all  that  is  on  the  stage." 

But  it  is  none  the  less  a  good  if  a  strange  expe- 
rience. It  teaches  the  man  who  assumes  these 
terrible  responsibilities  how  great  a  need  there  is 
for  him  to  study  the  science  of  the  stage,  so  that 
when  it  comes  to  his  turn  to  be  the  director  of  the 
Theatre,  he  may  dispense  with  the  services  of  a 
so-called  "  stage-manager  "  by  being  the  veritable 
stage-manager  himself. 

You  will  do  well,  after  having  remained  an  actor 
for  five  years  to  assume  these  difficult  responsi- 
bilities of  stage-manager  for  a  year  or  two,  and  never 
forget  that  it  is  a  position  capable  of  development. 

18 


THE    IDEAL    S T A G E  -  M  A N A G E R 

About  the  ideal  stage-manager  I  have  written  in 
my  book,  The  Art  of  the  Theatre,1  and  I  have  shown 
there  that  the  nature  of  his  position  should  make 
him  the  most  important  figure  in  the  whole  world 
of  the  Theatre.  It  should  therefore  be  your  aim 
to  become  such  a  man,  one  who  is  able  to  take  a 
play  and  produce  it  himself,  rehearsing  the  actors 
and  conveying  to  them  the  requirements  of  each 
movement,  each  situation;  designing  the  scenery 
and  the  costumes  and  explaining  to  those  who  are 
to  make  them  the  requirements  of  these  scenes  and 
costumes;  and  working  with  the  manipulators  of 
the  artificial  light,  and  conveying  to  them  clearly 
what  is  required. 

Now,  if  I  had  nothing  better  to  bring  to  you  than 
these  suggestions,  if  I  had  no  further  ideal,  no 
further  truth,  to  reveal  to  you  about  the  Stage  and 
about  your  future  than  this  that  I  have  told  you  of, 
I  should  consider  that  I  had  nothing  to  give  you 
whatever  and  I  should  urge  you  to  think  no  more 
of  the  Theatre.  But  I  told  you  at  the  beginning  of 
my  letter  that  I  was  going  to  give  you  all  sorts 
of  things  to  cheer  yourself  with,  so  that  you  should 
have  absolute  faith  in  the  greatness  of  the  task 
which  you  set  out  to  achieve;  and  here  I  remind 
you  of  this  again  lest  you  should  think  that  this 
ideal  manager  of  whom  I  speak  is  the  ultimate 

1  This  little  book  I  have  been  able  to  rescue  from  a  dungeon 
into  which  it  had  been  thrown,  and  it  is  now  free  once  more  to 
roam  the  world  under  the  protection  of  Mr.  Heinemann.     You 
will  find  it  on  p.  137  of  this  volume. 
C  2  19 


AND    BEYOND 


achievement  possible  for  you.  It  is  not.  Read 
what  I  have  written  about  him  in  The  Art  of 
the  Theatre,  and  let  that  suffice  you  for  the  time 
being;  but  rest  perfectly  sure  that  I  have  more, 
much  more  to  follow,  and  that  your  hope  shall  be 
so  high,  that  no  other  hope,  not  even  that  of  the 
poets  or  the  priests,  shall  be  higher. 

To  return  to  the  duties  of  the  stage-manager.  I 
take  it  that  I  have  already  explained  to  you,  or 
that  you  have  already  experienced,  these  ordinary 
difficulties,  and  that  you  have  learned  that  great 
tact  is  required  and  no  great  talent.  You  have  only 
to  take  care  that  in  exercising  this  tact  you  do  not 
become  a  little  diplomatist,  for  a  little  diplomatist 
is  a  dangerous  thing.  Keep  fresh  your  desire  to 
emerge  from  that  position,  and  your  best  way  to 
do  this  is  to  study  how  to  master  the  different 
materials  which,  later  on,  you  will  have  to  work  in 
when  your  position  is  that  of  the  ideal  stage- 
manager.  You  will  then  possess  your  own  Theatre, 
and  what  you  place  upon  your  stage  will  all  be  the 
work  of  your  brain,  much  of  it  the  work  of  your 
hands,  and  you  must  waste  no  time  so  as  to  be 
ready. 

ON    SCENE    AND    MOVEMENT 

It  is  now  time  to  tell  you  how  I  believe  you 
may  best  become  a  designer  of  stage  scenery  and 
costumes,  and  how  you  may  learn  something  about 

20 


THE     STUDY     OF     THE     PLAY 

the  uses  of  artificial  light ;  how  you  may  bring  the 
actors  who  work  with  you  to  work  in  harmony  with 
each  other,  with  the  scene,  and,  most  of  all,  with 
the  ideas  of  the  author.  You  have  been  studying, 
and  will  go  on  studying,  the  works  which  you  wish 
to  present.  Let  us  here  limit  them  to  the  four 
great  tragedies  by  Shakespeare.  You  will  know 
these  so  well  by  the  time  you  begin  to  prepare  them 
for  the  stage,  and  the  preparation  will  take  you  a 
year  or  two  for  each  play ;  you  will  have  no  more 
doubts  as  to  what  impression  you  want  to  create ; 
your  exercise  will  be  to  see  how  best  you  can  create 
that  impression. 

Let  me  tell  you  at  the  commencement  that  it 
is  the  large  and  sweeping  impression  produced  by 
means  of  scene  and  the  movement  of  the  figures, 
which  is  undoubtedly  the  most  valuable  means  at 
your  disposal.  I  say  this  only  after  very  many 
doubts  and  after  much  experience ;  and  you  must 
always  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  from  my  experience 
that  I  speak,  and  that  the  best  I  can  do  is  but  to 
offer  you  that  experience.  Although  you  know  that 
I  haveparted  company  with  the  popular  belief  that 
the  written  play  is  of  any  deep  and  lasting  value  to 
the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  we  are  not  going  so  far  as 
to  dispense  with  it  here.  We  are  to  accept  it  that 
the  play  still  retains  some  value  for  us,  and  we  are 
not  going  to  waste  that ;  our  aim  is  to  increase  it. 
Therefore  it  is,  as  I  say,  the  production  of  general 
and  broad  effects  appealing  to  the  eye  which  will 

21 


MACBETH' 


add  a  value  to  that  which  has  already  been  made 
valuable  by  the  great  poet. 

First  and  foremost  comes  the  scene.  It  is  idle  to 
talk  about  the  distraction  of  scenery,  because  the 
question  here  is  not  how  to  create  some  distracting 
scenery,  but  rather  how  to  create  a  place  which 
harmonizes  with  the  thoughts  of  the  poet. 

Come  now,  we  take  Macbeth.  We  know  the 
play  well.  In  what  kind  of  place  is  that  play  laid  ? 
How  does  it  look,  first  of  all  to  our  mind's  eye, 
secondly  to  our  eye  ? 

I  see  two  things.  I  see  a  lofty  and  steep  rock, 
and  I  see  the  moist  cloud  which  envelops  the  head 
of  this  rock.  That  is  to  say,  a  place  for  fierce  and 
warlike  men  to  inhabit,  a  place  for  phantoms  to 
nest  in.  Ultimately  this  moisture  will  destroy  the 
rock  ;  ultimately  these  spirits  will  destroy  the  men. 
Now  then,  you  are  quick  in  your  question  as  to 
what  actually  to  create  for  the  eye.  I  answer  as 
swiftly  —  place  there  a  rock  !  Let  it  mount  up 
high.  Swiftly  I  tell  you,  convey  the  idea  of  a  mist 
which  hugs  the  head  of  this  rock.  Now,  have  I 
departed  at  all  for  one  eighth  of  an  inch  from  the 
vision  which  I  saw  in  the  mind's  eye  ? 

But  you  ask  me  what  form  this  rock  shall  take 
and  what  colour  ?  What  are  the  lines  which  are 
the  lofty  lines,  and  which  are  to  be  seen  in  any 
lofty  cliff  ?  Go  to  them,  glance  but  a  moment  at 
them  ;  now  quickly  set  them  down  on  your  paper  ; 
the  lines  and  their  direction,  never  mind  the  cliff. 

22 


THE    COLO  U  R 


Do  not  be  afraid  to  let  them  go  high  ;  they  cannot 
go  high  enough  ;  and  remember  that  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  which  is  but  two  inches  square  you  can  make 
a  line  which  seems  to  tower  miles  in  the  air,  and  you 
can  do  the  same  on  your  stage,  for  it  is  all  a  matter 
of  proportion  and  nothing  to  do  with  actuality. 

You  ask  about  the  colours  ?  What  are  the 
colours  that  Shakespeare  has  indicated  for  us  ?  Do 
not  first  look  at  Nature,  but  look  in  the  play  of 
the  poet.  Two  ;  one  for  the  rock,  the  man  ;  one 
for  the  mist,  the  spirit.  Now,  quickly,  take  and 
accept  this  statement  from  me.  Touch  not  a 
single  other  colour,  but  only  these  two  colours 
through  your  whole  progress  of  designing  your 
scene  and  your  costumes,  yet  forget  not  each  that 
colour  contains  many  variations.  If  you  are  timid 
for  a  moment  and  mistrust  yourself  or  what  I  tell, 
when  the  scene  is  finished  you  will  not  see  with  your 
eye  the  effect  you  have  seen  with  your  mind's  eye, 
when  looking  at  the  picture  which  Shakespeare  has 
indicated. 

It  is  this  lack  of  courage,  lack  of  faith  in  the  value 
which  lies  in  limitation  and  in  proportion  which  is 
the  undoing  of  all  the  good  ideas  which  are  born 
in  the  minds  of  the  scene  designers.  They  wish 
to  make  twenty  statements  at  once.  They  wish  to 
tell  us  not  only  of  the  lofty  crag  and  the  mist  which 
clings  to  it  ;  they  wish  to  you  tell  of  the  moss  of  the 
Highlands  and  of  the  particular  rain  which  descends 
in  the  month  of  August.  They  cannot  resist 

23 


PRACTISE    AND    LOSE    NO    TIME 

showing  that  they  know  the  form  of  the  ferns  of 
Scotland,  and  that  their  archaeological  research  has 
been  thorough  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  castles 
of  Glamis  and  Cawdor.  And  so  in  their  attempt  to 
tell  us  these  many  facts,  they  tell  us  nothing;  all 
is  confusion : 

"  Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building." 

So,  do  as  I  tell  you.  Practise  with  the  pencil 
on  paper  both  on  a  small  scale  and  on  a  large  scale ; 
practise  with  colour  on  canvas;  so  that  you  may 
see  for  yourself  that  what  I  say  to  you  is  true — and, 
if  you  are  an  Englishman,  make  haste  :  for  if  you 
do  not  others  who  read  this  in  other  countries  will 
find  in  it  technical  truths  and  will  outstrip  you 
before  you  are  aware  of  it.  But  the  rock  and  its 
cloud  of  mist  is  not  all  that  you  have  to  consider. 
You  have  to  consider  that  at  the  base  of  this  rock 
swarm  the  clans  of  strange  earthly  forces,  and  that 
in  the  mist  hover  the  spirits  innumerable;  to 
speak  more  technically,  you  have  to  think  of  the 
sixty  or  seventy  actors  whose  movements  have  to 
be  made  at  the  base  of  the  scene,  and  of  the  other 
figures  which  obviously  may  not  be  suspended  on 
wires,  and  yet  must  be  seen  to  be  clearly  separate 
from  the  human  and  more  material  beings. 

It  is  obvious  then  that  some  curious  sense  of  a 
dividing  line  must  be  created  somewhere  upon  the 
stage  so  that  the  beholder,  even  if  he  look  but  with 

24 


A     TECHNICAL     EXPLANATION 

his  corporal  eye,  shall  be  convinced  that  the  two 
things  are  separate  things.  I  will  tell  you  how  to 
do  this.  Line  and  proportion  having  suggested  the 
material  rock-like  substance,  tone  and  colour  (one 
colour)  will  have  given  the  ethereal  to  the  mist-like 
vacuum.  Now  then,  you  bring  this  tone  and 
colour  downwards  until  it  reaches  nearly  to  the 
level  of  the  floor ;  but  you  must  be  careful  to  bring 
this  colour  and  this  tone  down  in  some  place  which 
is  removed  from  the  material  rock-like  substance. 

You  ask  me  to  explain  technically  what  I  mean. 
Let  your  rock  possess  but  half  the  width  of  the 
stage,  let  it  be  the  side  of  a  cliff  round  which  many 
paths  twist,  and  let  these  paths  mingle  in  one  flat 
space  taking  up  half  or  perhaps  three  quarters  of 
the  stage.  You  have  room  enough  there  for  all 
your  men  and  women.  Now  then,  open  your  stage 
and  all  other  parts.  Let  there  be  a  void  below  as 
well  as  above,  and  in  this  void  let  your  mist  fall  and 
fade;  and  from  that  bring  the  figures  which  you 
have  fashioned  and  which  are  to  stand  for  the 
spirits.  I  know  you  are  yet  not  quite  comfortable 
in  your  mind  about  this  rock  and  this  mist ;  I  know 
that  you  have  got  in  the  back  of  your  head  the 
recollection  that  a  little  later  on  in  the  play  come 
several  "  interiors  "  as  they  are  called.  But,  bless 
your  heart,  don't  bother  about  that !  Call  to  mind 
that  the  interior  of  a  castle  is  made  from  the  stuff 
which  is  taken  from  the  quarries.  Is  it  not 
precisely  the  same  colour  to  begin  with  ?  and  do 

25 


A     TECHNICAL    EXPLANATION 

not  the  blows  of  the  axes  which  hew  out  the  great 
stones  give  a  texture  to  each  stone  which  resembles 
the  texture  given  it  by  natural  means,  as  rain, 
lightning,  frost  ?  So  you  will  not  have  to  change 
your  mind  or  change  your  impression  as  you 
proceed.  You  will  have  but  to  give  variations  of 
the  same  theme,  the  rock — the  brown;  the  mist — 
the  grey ;  and  by  these  means  you  will,  wonder  of 
wonders,  actually  have  preserved  unity.  Your 
success  will  depend  upon  your  capacity  to  make 
variations  upon  these  two  themes ;  but  remember 
never  to  let  go  of  the  main  theme  of  the  play 
when  searching  for  variations  in  the  scene. 

By  means  of  your  scene  you  will  be  able  to  mould 
the  movements  of  the  actors,  and  you  must  be  able 
to  increase  the  impression  of  your  numbers  without 
actually  adding  another  man  to  your  forty  or  fifty. 
You  must  not,  therefore,  waste  a  single  man,  nor 
place  him  in  such  a  position  that  an  inch  of  him  is 
lost.  Therefore  the  place  on  which  he  walks  must 
be  the  most  carefully  studied  parts  of  the  whole 
scene.  But  in  telling  you  not  to  waste  an  inch  of 
him  I  do  not  therefore  mean  to  convey  that  you 
must  show  every  inch  of  him.  It  is  needless  to  say 
more  on  this  point.  By  means  of  suggestion  you 
may  bring  on  the  stage  a  sense  of  all  things — the 
rain,  the  sun,  the  wind,  the  snow,  the  hail,  the 
intense  heat — but  you  will  never  bring  them  there 
by  attempting  to  wrestle  and  close  with  Nature,  in 
order  so  that  you  may  seize  some  of  her  treasure 

26 


A    TECHNICAL    EXPLANATION 

and  lay  it  before  the  eyes  of  the  multitude.  By 
means  of  suggestion  in  movement  you  may  trans- 
late all  the  passions  and  the  thoughts  of  vast 
numbers  of  people,  or  by  means  of  the  same  you 
can  assist  your  actor  to  convey  the  thoughts  and 
the  emotions  of  the  particular  character  he  im- 
personates. Actuality,  accuracy  of  detail,  is  useless 
upon  the  stage. 

Do  you  want  further  directions  as  to  how  to 
become  a  designer  of  scenes  and  how  to  make  them 
beautiful,  and,  let  us  add  for  the  sake  of  the  cause, 
practical  and  inexpensive  ?  I  am  afraid  that  if  I 
were  to  commit  my  method  to  writing  I  should 
write  something  down  which  would  prove  not  so 
much  useless  as  bad.  For  it  might  be  very  danger- 
ous for  many  people  to  imitate  my  method.  It 
would  be  a  different  thing  if  you  could  study  with 
me,  practising  what  we  speak  about  for  a  few  years. 
Your  nature  would  in  time  learn  to  reject  that 
which  was  unsuited  to  it,  and,  by  a  daily  and  a  much 
slower  initiation,  only  the  more  important  and 
valuable  parts  of  my  teaching  would  last.  But  I 
can  give  you  now  some  more  general  ideas  of  things 
which  you  might  do  with  advantage  and  things 
which  you  may  leave  undone.  For  instance,  to 
begin  with,  don't  worry — particularly  don't  worry 
your  brain,  and  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  think  it  is 
important  that  you  have  got  to  do  something, 
especially  something  clever. 

I  call  to  mind  the  amount  of  trouble  I  had  when 
27 


MY     EARLY     EXPERIENCE 

I  was  a  boy  of  twenty-one  over  the  struggle  to 
somehow  produce  designs  traditional  in  character 
without  feeling  at  all  in  sympathy  with  the  tradi- 
tion;   and  I  count  it  as  so  much  wasted  time.     I 
do  not  hold  with  others  that  it  was  of  any  value 
whatever.     I  remember  making  designs  for  scenes 
for  Henry  IV.     I  was  working  under  an  actor- 
manager  at  the  time.     I  was  working  in  a  theatre 
where  the  chairs  and  the  tables  and  other  matters 
of  detail  played  over-important  and  photographic 
parts,  and,  not  knowing  any  better,  I  had  to  take 
all  this  as  a  good  example.    The  play  of  Henry  IV, 
therefore,  consisted  to  my  mind  of  one  excellent 
part,  Prince  Hal,  and  thirty  or  forty  other  characters 
that  trotted  round  this  part.     There  was  the  usual 
table  with  the  chairs  round  it  on  the  right  side. 
There  at  the  back  was  the  usual  door,  and  I  thought 
it  rather  unique  and  daring  at  the  time  to  place  this 
door  a  little  bit  off  the  straight.     There  was  the 
window  with  the  latches  and  the  bolts  and  the 
curtains  ruffled  up  to  look  as  if  they  had  been  used 
for  some  time,  and  outside  the  glimpses  of  English 
landscape.     There   were   the   great  flagons;    and, 
of  course,  on  the  curtain  rising  there  was  to  be  a 
great  cluster  and  fluster  of  "  scurvy  knaves,"  who 
ran  in  and  out,  and  a  noise  of  jovial  drinkers  in  the 
next  room.     There  was  the  little  piece  of  jovial 
music  to  take  up  the  curtain,  that  swinging  jig 
tune  which  we  have  all  grown  so  familiar  with, 
there  were  the  three  girls  who  pass  at  the  back  of 

28 


o      WOULD-BE    IMITATORS     o 

the  window,  laughing.  One  pops  her  head  in  at  the 
window  with  a  laugh  and  a  word  to  the  potman. 
Then  there  is  the  dwindling  of  the  laughter  and  the 
sinking  to  piano  of  the  orchestra  as  the  first  speaking 
character  enters,  and  so  on. 

My  whole  work  of  that  time  was  based  on  these 
stupid  restless  details  which  I  had  been  led  to 
suppose  a  production  could  be  made  from ;  and  it 
was  only  when  I  banished  the  whole  of  this  from 
my  thoughts,  and  no  longer  permitted  myself  to  see 
with  the  eyes  of  the  producers  of  the  period  of 
Charles  Kean,  that  I  began  to  find  anything  fresh 
which  might  be  of  value  to  the  play.  And  so  for 
me  to  tell  you  how  to  make  your  scenes  is  well-nigh 
impossible.  It  would  lead  you  into  terrible  blun- 
ders. I  have  seen  some  of  the  scenery  which  is 
supposed  to  be  produced  according  to  my  teaching, 
and  it  is  utter  rubbish. 

I  let  my  scenes  grow  out  of  not  merely  the  play, 
but  from  broad  sweeps  of  thought  which  the  play 
has  conjured  up  in  me,  or  even  other  plays  by  the 
same  author  have  conjured  up.  For  instance,  the 
relation  of  Hamlet  to  Macbeth  is  quite  close,  and 
the  one  play  may  influence  the  other.  I  have  been 
asked  so  many  times,  by  people  eager  to  make  a 
little  swift  success  or  a  little  money,  to  explain  to 
them  carefully  how  I  make  my  scenes;  because, 
said  they,  with  sweet  simplicity,  "  then  I  could  make 
some  too."  You  will  hardly  believe  it,  but  the 
strangest  of  people  have  said  this  to  me,  and  if  I 

29 


o      WOULD-BE    IMITATORS     o 

could  be  of  service  to  them  without  being  treacher- 
ous to  myself  as  an  artist,  and  to  the  art,  I  would 
always  do  so.  But  you  see  how  vain  that  would  be  ! 
To  tell  them  in  five  minutes  or  in  five  hours  or  even 
in  a  day  how  to  do  a  thing  which  it  has  taken  me 
a  lifetime  to  begin  to  do  would  be  utterly  impossible. 
And  yet  when  I  have  been  unable  to  bring  myself  to 
tear  my  knowledge  up  into  little  shreds  and  give  it 
to  these  people  they  have  been  most  indignant,  at 
times  malignant. 

And  so  you  see  it  is  not  that  I  am  unwilling  to 
explain  to  you  the  size  and  shape  of  my  back-cloths, 
the  colour  which  is  put  upon  them,  the  pieces  of 
wood  that  are  not  to  be  attached  to  them,  the  way 
they  are  to  be  handled,  the  lights  that  are  to  be 
thrown  upon  them,  and  how  and  why  I  do  every- 
thing else;  it  is  only  that  if  I  were  to  tell  you, 
though  it  might  be  of  some  service  to  you  for  the 
next  two  or  three  years,  and  you  could  produce 
several  plays  with  enough  "effects"  therein  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  quite  a  number  of  people, 
though  you  would  benefit  to  this  extent  you  would 
lose  to  a  far  greater  extent,  and  the  art  would  have 
in  me  its  most  treacherous  minister.  We  are  not  con- 
cerned with  short  cuts.  We  are  not  concerned  with 
what  is  to  be  "  effective  "  and  what  is  to  pay.  We 
are  concerned  with  the  heart  of  this  thing,  and  with 
loving  and  understanding  it.  Therefore  approach 
it  from  all  sides,  surround  it,  and  do  not  let  yourself 
be  attracted  away  by  the  idea  of  scene  as  an  end 

30 


THE    PREPARATION    OF   A    PLAY 

in  itself,  of  costume  as  an  end  in  itself,  or  of  stage 
management  or  any  of  these  things,  and  never  lose 
hold  of  your  determination  to  win  through  to  the 
secret — the  secret  which  lies  in  the  creation  of 
another  beauty,  and  then  all  will  be  well. 

In  preparing  a  play,  while  your  mind  is  thinking 
of  scene,  let  it  instantly  leap  round  and  consider 
the  acting,  movement  and  voice.  Decide  nothing 
yet,  instantly  leap  back  to  another  thought  about 
another  part  of  this  unit.  Consider  the  movement 
robbed  of  all  scene,  all  costume,  merely  as  move- 
ment. Somehow  mix  the  movement  of  the  person 
with  the  movement  which  you  see  in  your  mind's 
eye  in  the  scene.  Now  pour  all  your  colour  upon 
this.  Now  wash  away  all  the  colour.  Now  begin 
over  again.  Consider  only  the  words.  Wind 
them  in  and  out  of  some  vast  and  impossible 
picture,  and  now  make  that  picture  possible 
through  the  words.  Do  you  see  at  all  what  I  mean? 
Look  at  the  thing  from  every  standpoint  and 
through  every  medium,  and  do  not  hasten  to  begin 
your  work  until  one  medium  force  you  to  com- 
mence. You  can  far  sooner  trust  other  influences 
to  move  your  will  and  even  your  hand  than  you  can 
trust  your  own  little  human  brain.  This  may  not 
be  the  methodical  teachings  of  the  school.  The 
results  they  achieve  are  on  record,  and  the  record 
is  nothing  to  boast  about.  Hard,  matter-of-fact, 
mechanical  teaching  may  be  very  good  for  a  class, 
but  it  is  not  much  good  for  the  individual ;  and 

31 


•^       THE     COSTUME    BOOKS       o 

when  I  come  to  teach  a  class  I  shall  not  teach  them 
so  much  by  words  as  by  practical  demonstration. 

By  the  way,  I  may  tell  you  one  or  two  things 
that  you  will  find  good  not  to  do.  For  instance,  do 
not  trouble  about  the  costume  books.  When  in  a 
great  difficulty  refer  to  one  in  order  to  see  how 
little  it  will  help  you  out  of  your  difficulty,  but 
your  best  plan  is  never  to  let  yourself  become  com- 
plicated with  these  things.  Remain  clear  and  fresh. 
If  you  study  how  to  draw  a  figure,  how  to  put  on  it 
a  jacket,  coverings  for  the  legs,  covering  for  the 
head,  and  try  to  vary  these  coverings  in  all  kinds 
of  interesting,  amusing,  or  beautiful  ways,  you  will 
get  much  further  than  if  you  feast  your  eyes  and 
confound  your  brain  with  Racinet,  Planchet, 
Hottenroth  and  the  others.  The  coloured  costumes 
are  the  worst,  and  you  must  take  great  care  with 
these  and  be  utterly  independent  when  you  come 
to  think  about  what  you  have  been  looking  at. 
Doubt  and  mistrust  them  thoroughly.  If  you  find 
afterwards  that  they  contain  many  good  things 
you  will  not  be  so  far  wrong;  but  if  you  accept 
them  straight  away  your  whole  thought  and  sense 
for  designing  a  costume  will  be  lost;  you  will  be 
able  to  design  a  Racinet  costume  or  a  Planchet 
costume,  and  you  will  lean  far  too  much  on  these 
historically  accurate  men  who  are  at  the  same  time 
historically  untrue. 

Better  than  these  that  I  have  mentioned  is 
Viollet  le  Due.  He  has  much  love  for  the  little 

32 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING 
A  DANCER. 

"  Charming  costume,  that,'1  I  hear  some  actor-manager  say  ; 
"  quite  charming — so  original,  loo — it* 8  a  pity  it's  impossible  to 
make  it.  My  wardrobe  mistress  tells  me  she  couldn't  make  that 
because  it's  not  clear.'1 

This  is  typical  of  the  withering  praise  such  a  design  is  met  with 
when  an  anxious  actor-manager  catches  sight  of  it.  It  is  the  habit 
for  some  of  them — one  of  them,  I  had  almost  written — to  damn 
everything  outside  his  own  theatre  as  impossible,  and  in  such  a 
pathetic  way,  too.  "  You  are  not  going  to  tell  me  that  you  seriously 
consider  that  is  good,"  he  asks  of  his  visitor,  and  he  adds,  "  /  like 
mine  much  better  " — "  mine  "  is  some  little  invention  of  one  of  his 
servants,  for  the  great  man  never  indulges  himself  that  way. 

This  costume  design  was  carried  out  to  perfection.  One  is  obliged 
to  state  these  things  because  of  the  story-tellers  I 


[Face  page  32. 


VIOLLET    LE    DUG 


truths  which  underlie  costume,  and  is  very  faithful 
in  his  attitude  ;  but  even  his  is  more  a  book  for  the 
historical  novelist,  and  one  has  yet  to  be  written 
about  imaginative  costume.  Keep  continually 
designing  such  imaginative  costumes.  For  ex- 
ample, make  a  barbaric  costume;  and  a  barbaric 
costume  for  a  sly  man  which  has  nothing  about  it 
which  can  be  said  to  be  historical  and  yet  is  both 
sly  and  barbaric.  Now  make  another  design  for 
another  barbaric  costume,  for  a  man  who  is  bold 
and  tender.  Now  make  a  third  for  one  who  is  ugly 
and  vindictive.  It  will  be  an  exercise.  You  will 
probably  make  blunders  at  first,  for  it  is  no  easy 
thing  to  do,  but  I  promise  you  if  you  persevere  long 
enough  you  will  be  able  to  do  it.  Then  go  further  ; 
attempt  to  design  the  clothing  for  a  divine  figure 
and  for  a  demonic  figure  :  these  of  course  will  be 
studies  in  individual  costumes,  but  the  main 
strength  of  this  branch  of  the  work  lies  in  the 
costume  as  mass.  It  is  the  mistake  of  all  theatrical 
producers  that  they  consider  the  costumes  of  the 
mass  individually. 

It  is  the  same  when  they  come  to  consider  move- 
ments, the  movements  of  masses  on  the  stage.  You 
must  be  careful  not  to  follow  the  custom.  We 
often  hear  it  said  that  each  member  of  the  Meiningen 
Company  composing  the  great  crowd  in  Julius 
Caesar  was  acting  a  special  part  of  his  own.  This 
may  be  very  exciting  as  a  curiosity,  and  attractive 
to  a  rather  foolish  audience,  who  would  naturally 
D  33 


THE    MOVEMENTS    OF    MASSES 

say :  "  Oh,  how  interesting  to  go  and  look  at  one 
particular  man  in  a  corner  who  is  acting  a  little  part 
of  his  own  !  How  wonderful  !  It  is  exactly  like 
life  !  "  And  if  that  is  the  standard  and  if  that  is 
our  aim,  well  and  good. 

But  we  know  that  it  is  not.  Masses  must  be 
treated  as  masses,  as  Rembrandt  treats  a  mass,  as 
Bach  and  Beethoven  treat  a  mass,  and  detail  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  mass.  Detail  is  very  well 
in  itself  and  in  its  place.  You  do  not  make  an 
impression  of  mass  by  crowding  a  quantity  of 
details  together.  Detail  is  made  to  form  mass  only 
by  those  people  who  love  the  elaborate,  and  it  is  a 
much  easier  thing  to  crowd  a  quantity  of  details 
together  than  it  is  to  create  a  mass  which  shall 
possess  beauty  and  interest.  On  the  stage  they 
instantly  turn  to  the  natural  when  they  wish  to 
create  this  elaborate  structure.  A  hundred  men 
to  compose  a  crowd,  or,  let  us  say,  all  Rome,  as  in 
Julius  Caesar ;  a  hundred  men,  and  each  is  told  to 
act  his  little  part.  Each  acts  himself,  giving  vent 
to  his  own  cries ;  each  a  different  cry,  though  many 
of  them  copy  the  most  effective  ones,  so  that  by  the 
end  of  the  first  twenty  nights  they  are  all  giving  out 
the  same  cry.  And  each  of  them  has  his  own  action, 
which  after  the  first  twenty  nights  is  exchanged  for 
the  most  effective  and  popular  action ;  and  by  this 
means  a  fairly  decent  crowd  of  men  with  waving 
arms  and  shouting  voices  may  be  composed,  and 
may  give  some  people  the  impression  of  a  vast 

34 


THE   'NATURALISTIC'  IN  MOVEMENT 

crowd.     To   others  it  gives   the   impression  of  a 
crush  at  a  railway  station. 

Avoid  all  this  sort  of  thing.  Avoid  the  so-called- 
"  naturalistic  "  in  movement  as  well  as  in  scene 
and  costume.  The  naturalistic  stepped  in  on  the 
Stage  because  the  artificial  had  grown  finicking, 
insipid ;  but  do  not  forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  noble  artificiality. 

Some  one  writing  about  natural  movement  and 
gesture  says  :  "  Wagner  had  long  put  in  practice  the 
system  of  natural  stage  action  tried  of  late  years 
at  the  Theatre  Libre  in  Paris  by  a  French  comedian ; 
a  system  which,  most  happily,  tends  more  and  more 
to  be  generally  adopted."  It  is  to  prevent  such 
things  being  written  that  you  exist. 

This  tendency  towards  the  natural  has  nothing 
to  do  with  art,  and  is  abhorrent  when  it  shows  in 
art,  even  as  artificiality  is  abhorrent  when  we  meet 
it  in  everyday  life.  We  must  understand  that  the 
two  things  are  divided,  and  we  must  keep  each 
thing  in  its  place ;  we  cannot  expect  to  rid  ourselves 
in  a  moment  of  this  tendency  to  be  "  natural  " ;  to 
make  "  natural  "  scenes,  and  speak  in  a  "  natural  " 
voice,  but  we  can  fight  against  it  best  by  studying 
the  other  arts. 

Therefore  we  have  to  put  the  idea  of  natural  or 
unnatural  action  out  of  our  heads  altogether,  and 
in  place  of  it  we  have  to  consider  necessary  or 
unnecessary  action.  The  necessary  action  at  a 

certain  moment  may  be  said  to  be  the  natural. 
D2  35 


NATURAL  ACTION  NOT  ALWAYS  RIGHT 

action  for  that  moment;  and  if  that  is  what  is 
meant  by  "  natural,"  well  and  good.  In  so  far 
as  it  is  right  it  is  natural,  but  we  must  not  get 
into  our  heads  that  every  haphazard  natural 
action  is  right.  In  fact,  there  is  hardly  any  action 
which  is  right,  there  is  hardly  any  which  is  natural. 
Action  is  a  way  of  spoiling  something,  says 
Rimbaud. 

And  to  train  a  company  of  actors  to  show  upon 
the  stage  the  actions  which  are  seen  in  every 
drawing-room,  club,  public-house  or  garret  must 
seem  to  every  one  nothing  less  than  tomfoolery. 
That  companies  are  so  trained  is  well  known,  but 
it  remains  almost  incredible  in  its  childishness. 
Just  as  I  told  you  to  invent  costume  which  was 
significant,  so  must  you  invent  a  series  of  significant 
actions,  still  keeping  in  mind  the  great  division 
which  exists  between  action  in  the  mass  and  action 
in  the  individual,  and  remembering  that  no  action 
is  better  than  little  action. 

I  have  told  you  to  make  designs  for  three 
costumes  of  a  barbaric  period,  each  particularized 
by  some  special  character.  Give  action  to  these 
figures  which  you  have  made.  Create  for  them 
significant  actions,  limiting  yourself  to  those  three 
texts  that  I  have  given  you,  the  sly,  the  bold  tender- 
ness, the  ugly  and  vindictive.  Make  studies  for 
these,  carry  your  little  book  or  pieces  of  paper  with 
you  and  continually  be  inventing  with  your  pencil 
little  hints  of  forms  and  faces  stamped  with  these 

36 


THE     WORD    'BEAUTIFUL'    AND  — 

three  impressions ;    and  when  you  have  collected 
dozens  of  them  select  the  most  beautiful. 

And  now  for  a  word  on  this.  I  particularly  did 
not  say  the  most  "  effective,"  although  I  used  the 
word  "  beautiful  "  as  the  artists  use  it,  not  as  those 
of  the  stage  use  it. 

I  cannot  be  expected  to  explain  to  you  all  that 
the  artist  means  by  the  word  beautiful ;  but  to  him 
it  is  something  which  has  the  most  balance  about  it, 
the  justest  thing,  that  which  rings  a  complete  and 
perfect  bell  note.  Not  the  pretty,  not  the  smooth, 
not  the  superb  always,  and  not  always  the 
rich,  seldom  the  "  effective  "  as  we  know  it  in 
the  Theatre,  although  at  times  that,  too,  is  the 
beautiful.  But  Beauty  is  so  vast  a  thing,  and 
contains  nearly  all  other  things — contains  even 
ugliness,  which  sometimes  ceases  to  be  what  is 
held  as  ugliness,  and  contains  harsh  things,  but 
never  incomplete  things. 

Once  let  the  meaning  of  this  word  Beauty 
begin  to  be  thoroughly  felt  once  more  in  the 
Theatre,  and  we  may  say  that  the  awakening  day 
of  the  Theatre  is  near.  Once  let  the  word  effec- 
tive be  wiped  off  our  lips,  and  they  will  be  ready 
to  speak  this  word  Beauty.  When  we  speak  about 
the  effective,  we  in  the  Theatre  mean  something 
which  will  reach  across  the  foot  lights.  The  old 
actor  tells  the  young  actor  to  raise  his  voice,  to 
"  Spit  it  out  " — "  Spit  it  out,  laddie ;  fling  it  at  the 
back  of  the  gallery."  Not  bad  advice  either ;  but 

37 


-THE    WORD    'EFFECTIVE* 

to  think  that  this  has  not  been  learnt  in  the  last 
five  or  six  hundred  years,  and  that  we  have  not 
got  further;  that  is  what  is  so  distressing  about  the 
whole  business.     Obviously  all  stage  actions  and 
all  stage  words  must  first  of  all  be  clearly  seen, 
must    be    clearly    heard.     Naturally    all    pointed 
actions  and  all  pointed  speeches  must  have  a  clear 
and  distinct  form  so  that  they  may  be  clearly 
understood.     We  grant  all  this.     It  is  the  same  in 
all  art,  and  as  with  the  other  arts  it  goes  without 
saying;   but  it  is  not  the  one  and  only  essential 
thing  which  the  elders  must  be  continually  drum- 
ming into  the  ears  of  the  younger  generation  when 
it  steps  upon  the  stage.     It  teaches  the  young  actor 
soon  to  become  a  master  of  tricks.     He  takes  the 
short  cut  instinctively  to  these  tricks,  and  this 
playing  of  tricks  has  been  the  cause  of  the  invention 
of  a  word — "  Theatrical,"  and  I  can  put  my  finger 
on  the  reason  why  the  young  actor  labours  under 
this  disadvantage  the  moment  he  begins  his  stage 
experience.     It  is  because  previous  to  his  experience 
he  has  passed  no  time  as  student  or  as  apprentice. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  am  such  a  great  believer 
in  the  schools.     I  believe  very  much  indeed  in  the 
general  school  which  the  world  has  to  offer  us,  but 
there  is  this  great  difference  between  the  "  world  " 
schooling  of  the  actor  and  the  "  world  "  schooling 
of  the  other  artists  who  do  not  go  to  the  academies 
either.     A  young  painter,  or  a  young  musician,  a 
young  poet,   or  a  young  architect,   or  a  young 

38 


THE    FIRE    OF    CRITICISM  — 

sculptor  may  never  enter  an  academy  during  his 
life,  and  may  have  ten  years'  knocking  about  in  the 
world — learning  here,  learning  there,  experimenting 
and  labouring  unseen  and  his  experiments  un- 
noticed. The  young  actor  may  not  enter  an 
academy  either,  and  he  may  also  knock  about  in 
the  world,  and  he  too  may  experiment  just  the  same 
as  the  others,  but — and  here  is  the  vast  difference — 
all  his  experiments  he  must  make  in  front  of  a  public. 
Every  little  atom  of  his  work  from  the  first  day  of 
his  commencing  until  the  last  day  of  his  apprentice- 
ship must  be  seen,  and  must  come  under  the  fire 
of  criticism.  I  shall  ever  be  beholden  to  the  higher 
criticism,  and  for  a  man  of  ten  years'  experience  at 
any  work  to  come  under  the  fire  of  criticism  will 
benefit  him  and  his  work  a  thousandfold.  He  has 
prepared  himself ;  he  has  strength ;  he  knows  what 
he  is  going  to  face.  But  for  every  boy  and  girl 
to  be  subjected  to  this  the  first  year  that  they  timidly 
attempt  this  enormous  task  is  not  only  unfair  on  them 
but  is  disastrous  to  the  art  of  the  stage. 

Let  us  picture  ourselves  as  totally  new  to  this 
work.  We  are  on  fire  with  the  desire  to  begin  our 
work.  Willingly  and  with  an  enormous  courage 
we  accept  some  small  part.  It  is  eight  lines,  and  we 
appear  for  ten  minutes.  We  are  delighted,  although 
almost  in  a  panic.  Say  it  is  twenty  lines.  Do  you 
think  we  say  no  ?  We  are  to  appear  six  times,  do 
you  think  we  shall  run  away  ?  We  may  not  be 
angels,  but  we  are  certainly  not  fools  for  stepping 

39 


^          —AND    THE    RESULT          ^ 

in.  It  appears  to  us  heaven.  On  we  go.  Next 
morning :  "  It  is  a  pity  that  the  manager  elected 
an  incompetent  young  man  to  fill  so  important  a 
part." 

I  am  not  blaming  the  critic  for  writing  this;  I 
am  not  saying  that  it  will  kill  a  great  artist  or  that 
it  will  break  our  heart ;  I  only  say  that  this  seems 
so  unfair  that  it  is  only  natural  that  we  retaliate 
by  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  the  very  art  which 
we  have  commenced  to  love,  by  becoming  effective  at 
all  costs.  We  have  received  this  criticism;  we 
have  done  our  best ;  the  others  have  received  good 
criticism;  we  can  stand  it  no  longer;  we  do  as 
they  do,  we  become  effective.  It  takes  most  young 
actors  but  five  years'  acute  suffering  to  become 
effective,  to  become  theatrical.  Too  early  criticism 
breaks  the  young  actor  who  would  be  an  artist  as 
far  as  possible,  and  causes  him  to  be  a  traitor  to  the 
art  which  he  loves.  Beware  of  this  and  rather  be 
ineffective.  Receive  your  bad  criticism  with  a  good 
grace  and  wTith  the  knowledge  that  with  patience 
and  with  pride  you  can  outlive  and  out-distance  all 
around  you.  It  is  right  that  the  critic  should  say 
that  you  were  ineffective  at  a  certain  moment,  or 
that  you  played  your  part  badly,  if  you  have  been 
but  three,  four  or  five  years  on  the  stage,  and  if  you 
are  but  still  feeling  your  way  slowly,  instead  of 
rushing  to  tricks  for  support.  It  is  quite  right  of 
them  to  say  that,  for  they  are  speaking  the  entire 
truth — you  should  be  glad  of  this;  but  uncon- 

40 


THE    CRITIC'S    ATTITUDE 

sciously  they  disclose  a  still  greater  truth.     It  is 
this — that  the  better  the  artist  the  worse  the  actor. 

So  take  entire  courage.  Continue,  as  I  have  said 
at  the  beginning,  to  remain  an  actor  until  you  can 
stand  it  no  longer,  until  you  feel  you  are  on  the 
point  of  giving  way;  then  leap  nimbly  aside  into 
the  position  of  stage-manager.  And  here,  as  I  have 
pointed  out,  you  will  be  in  a  better  position,  if  not 
a  much  better  position,  for  are  you  approaching  the 
point  at  which  stands  (slumbering,  it  is  true)  the 
muse  of  the  theatre.  Your  most  effective  scenes, 
productions,  costumes  and  the  rest,  will  of  course 
be  the  most  theatrical  ones.  But  here  tradition 
is  not  so  strong,  and  it  is  here  that  you  will  find 
something  that  you  can  rely  on. 

The  critic  is  not  more  lenient  towards  the  pro- 
ducer of  plays,  but  somehow  or  other  he  is  less 
inclined  to  use  the  word  "  effective."  He  seems  to 
have  a  wider  knowledge  of  the  beauty  or  the  ugliness 
of  these  things.  It  may  be  that  the  tradition  of 
his  art  permits  him  this ;  for  "  production,"  as  it  is 
understood  nowadays,  is  but  a  more  modern  de- 
velopment of  the  Theatre,  and  the  critic  has  more 
liberty  to  say  what  he  wishes.  At  any  rate,  when 
you  become  stage-manager,  you  will  no  longer  have 
to  appear  each  evening  upon  the  stage  in  person, 
and  therefore  anything  which  is  written  about  your 
work  you  cannot  take  as  a  personal  criticism. 

I  thought  to  tell  you  here  something  about  the 
uses  of  artificial  light ;  but  apply  what  I  have  said 

41 


THE    LAST    ADVICE    OF    ALL 

of  scene  and  costume  to  this  other  branch  as  well. 
Some  of  it  may  apply.  To  tell  you  of  the  instru- 
ments which  they  use,  how  they  use  them  so  as  to 
produce  beautiful  results,  is  not  quite  practical. 
If  you  have  the  wit  to  invent  the  scenes  and  the 
costumes  that  I  have  spoken  about,  you  will  soon 
have  the  wit  to  find  your  own  way  of  using  the 
artificial  light  we  are  given  in  the  Theatre. 

Finally,  before  we  pass  out  of  the  Theatre  on  to 
other  more  serious  matters,  let  me  give  you  the  last 
advice  of  all.  When  in  doubt  listen  to  the  advice 
of  a  man  in  a  theatre,  even  if  he  is  only  a  dresser, 
rather  than  pay  any  attention  to  the  amateur. 
A  few  painters,  a  few  writers,  and  a  few  musicians, 
have  used  our  Theatre  as  a  kind  of  after-thought. 

Take  care  to  pay  no  attention  to  what  they  say 
or  what  they  do.  An  ordinary  stage  hand  knows 
more  about  our  art  than  these  amateurs.  The 
painter  has  lately  been  making  quite  a  pretty  little 
raid  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  stage.  He  is  very 
often  a  man  of  much  intellectual  ability  and  full  of 
very  many  excellent  theories,  the  old  and  beautiful 
theory  of  art  which  each  in  his  own  piece  of  soil 
knows  how  to  cultivate  best;  and  these  theories 
he  has  exemplified  in  his  own  particular  branch  of 
art  so  well.  In  the  Theatre  they  become  sheer 
affectation.  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  a  man 
who  has  spent  fifteen  to  twenty  years  of  his  life 
painting  in  oils  on  a  flat  surface,  etching  on  copper, 
or  engraving  on  wood  will  produce  something  which 

42 


DON'T    LISTEN    TO    AMATEURS 

is  pictorial  and  has  the  qualities  of  the  pictorial  but 
nothing  else.  And  so  with  the  musician ;  he  will 
produce  something  which  is  musical.  So  with  the 
poet ;  he  will  produce  something  which  is  literary. 
It  will  all  be  very  picturesque  and  pretty,  but  it  will 
unfortunately  be  nothing  to  do  with  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre.  Beware  of  such  men ;  you  can  do  without 
them.  If  you  have  anything  to  do  with  them  you 
will  end  by  being  an  amateur  yourself.  If  one 
of  these  should  wish  to  talk  with  you  about  the 
Theatre  be  careful  to  ask  him  how  long  he  has 
actually  worked  in  a  Theatre  before  you  waste  any 
more  time  listening  to  his  unpractical  theories. 

And  as  the  last  but  one  word  was  about  these  men, 
so  the  last  word  of  all  shall  be  about  their  work. 
Their  work  is  so  fine,  they  have  found  such  good 
laws  and  have  followed  these  laws  so  well,  have  given 
up  all  their  worldly  hopes  in  this  one  great  search 
after  beauty,  that  when  Nature  seems  to  be  too 
•difficult  to  understand,  go  straight  to  these  fellows, 
I  mean  to  their  work,  and  it  will  help  you  out  of 
all  the  difficulties,  for  their  works  are  the  best  and 
the  wisest  works  in  the  world. 

^>     THE    FUTURE.     A    HOPE     o 

And  now  I  intend  to  carry  you  on  beyond  this 
stage  management  about  which  I  have  spoken, 
and  unveil  to  you  some  greater  possibilities  which 
I  think  are  in  store  for  you. 

43 


*>          AND    NOW    'BEYOND'         o 

I  have  come  to  the  end  of  talking  with  you  about 
matters  as  they  are,  and  I  hope  you  will  pass  through 
those  years  as  actor,  manager,  designer  and  pro- 
ducer without  any  very  great  disturbances.  To  do 
this  successfully,  although  in  your  apprenticeship 
you  must  hold  your  own  opinion,  you  must  hold  it 
very  closely  to  yourself ;  and  above  all  things  re- 
member that  I  do  not  expect  you  to  hold  my  opinion 
or  to  stand  up  for  it  publicly.  To  do  that  would  be 
to  weaken  your  position  and  to  weaken  the  value  of 
this  preparation  time.  It  is  of  no  value  to  me  that 
people  should  be  convinced  of  your  belief  in  the 
truth  of  my  statements,  theories  or  practices  :  it 
is  of  great  value  to  me  that  you  should  be  so  con- 
vinced. And  so  as  to  let  nothing  stand  in  the  way 
of  that  I  would  have  you  run  no  risks,  but  keep  our 
convictions  to  ourselves.  Try  to  win  no  support 
for  me.  Run  no  risk  of  being  faced  with  the 
dismissal  from  your  post  with  the  option  of  the 
denial  of  our  mutual  beliefs.  Besides,  there  is  no 
need  for  either  of  these  two  alternatives.  I  have 
taken  so  large  a  share  of  the  rebuffs  by  loudly 
proclaiming  my  beliefs  in  the  cause  of  the  truth  of 
this  work,  and  am  always  prepared  to  take  more  if 
you  will  but  leap  forwards  and  secure  the  advan- 
tages, using  me  as  the  stalking-horse.  I  shall 
appreciate  the  fun,  for  there  is  a  spice  of  fun  in  it 
all,  and  that  will  be  my  reward.  Remember  we 
are  attacking  a  monster;  a  very  powerful  and 
subtle  enemy ;  and  when  you  signal  to  me  let  it  be 

44 


o          AND    NOW     'BEYOND'         o 

by  that  more  secret  means  even  than  wireless  tele- 
graphy. I  shall  understand  the  communication. 

When  you  have  finished  your  apprenticeship, 
six  to  ten  years,  there  will  be  no  need  to  use  further 
concealment :  you  will  then  be  fitted  to  step  out 
and,  in  your  turn,  unfurl  your  banner,  for  you  will 
be  upon  the  frontier  of  your  kingdom,  and  about 
this  kingdom  I  will  speak  now. 

I  use  the  word  "  Kingdom  "  instinctively  in 
speaking  of  the  land  of  the  Theatre.  It  explains 
best  what  I  mean.  Maybe  in  the  next  three  or 
four  thousand  years  the  word  Kingdom  will  have 
disappeared — Kingdom,  Kingship,  King — but  I 
doubt  it ;  and  if  it  does  go  something  else  equally 
fine  will  take  its  place.  It  will  be  the  same  thing 
in  a  different  dress.  You  can't  invent  anything 
finer  than  Kingship,  the  idea  of  the  King.  It  is 
merely  another  word  for  the  Individual,  the  calm, 
shrewd  personality;  and  so  long  as  this  world 
exists  the  calmest  and  the  shrewdest  personality 
will  always  be  the  King.  In  some  rare  instances  he 
is  called  the  President,  but  he  is  none  the  less  the 
King.  In  some  instances  he  is  called  the  Pope,  and 
sometimes  the  General ;  it  all  comes  to  the  same 
thing,  and  it  is  no  good  denying  it :  He  is  the  King. 
To  the  artist  the  thought  is  very  dear.  There  is 
the  sense  of  the  perfect  balancer.  The  king  (to  the 
artist)  is  that  superb  part  of  the  scales,  which  the 
old  workmen  made  in  gold  and  sometimes  touched 
with  beautiful  stones ;  the  delicately  worked  handle 

45 


THE    BALANCES.     OUR    DEVICE 

without  which  the  scales  could  not  exist,  and 
upon  which  the  eye  of  the  measurer  must  be  fixed. 
Therefore  I  have  taken  as  the  device  of  our  new 
art  these  scales,  for  our  art  is  based  upon  the  idea 
of  perfect  balance,  the  result  of  movement. 

Here  then  is  the  thing  which  I  promised  at  the 
beginning  to  bring  to  you.  Having  passed  through 
your  apprenticeship  without  having  been  merged 
in  the  trade,  you  are  fitted  to  receive  this.  Without 
having  done  so  you  would  not  even  be  able  to  see  it. 
I  have  no  fear  that  what  I  throw  to  you  now  will  be 
caught  by  other  hands,  because  it  is  visible  and 
tangible  only  to  those  who  have  passed  through 
such  an  apprenticeship.  In  the  beginning  with  you 
it  was  Impersonation;  you  passed  on  to  Repre- 
sentation, and  now  you  advance  into  Revelation. 
When  impersonating  and  representing  you  made 
use  of  those  materials  which  had  always  been  made 
use  of ;  that  is  to  say,  the  human  figure  as  exempli- 
fied in  the  actor,  speech  as  exemplified  in  the  poet 
through  the  actor,  the  visible  world  as  shown  by 
means  of  Scene.  You  now  will  reveal  by  means 
of  movement  the  invisible  things,  those  seen 
through  the  eye  and  not  with  the  eye,  by  the 
wonderful  and  divine  power  of  Movement. 

There  is  a  thing  which  man  has  not  yet  learned 
to  master,  a  thing  which  man  dreamed  not  was 
waiting  for  him  to  approach  with  love;  it  was 
invisible  and  yet  ever  present  with  him.  Superb 
in  its  attraction  and  swift  to  retreat,  a  thing  waiting 

46 


MOVEMENT 


but  for  the  approach  of  the  right  men,  prepared  to 
soar  with  them  through  all  the  circles  beyond  the 
earth  —  it  is  Movement. 

It  is  somehow  a  common  belief  that  only  by 
means  of  words  can  truths  be  revealed.  Even  the 
wisdom  of  China  has  said  :  "  Spiritual  truth  is  deep 
and  wide,  of  infinite  excellence,  but  difficult  of 
comprehension.  Without  words  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  expound  its  doctrine;  without  images 
its  form  could  not  be  revealed.  Words  explain  the 
law  of  two  and  six,  images  delineate  the  relation 
of  four  and  eight.  Is  it  not  profound,  as  infinite 
as  space,  beyond  all  comparison  lovely  ?  " 

But  what  of  that  infinite  and  beautiful  thing 
dwelling  in  space  called  Movement  ?  From 
sound  has  been  drawn  that  wonder  of  wonders 
called  Music.  Music,  one  could  speak  of  it  as 
St.  Paul  speaks  of  love.  It  is  all  love,  it  is  all 
that  he  says  true  love  should  be.  It  suffereth  all 
things,  and  is  kind  ;  is  not  puffed  up,  doth  not  be- 
have itself  unseemly;  believeth  all  things,  hopeth 
all  things  —  how  infinitely  noble. 

And  as  like  one  sphere  to  another,  so  is  Move- 
ment like  to  Music.  I  like  to  remember  that  all 
things  spring  from  movement,  even  music;  and 
I  like  to  think  that  it  is  to  be  our  supreme  honour 
to  be  the  ministers  to  the  supreme  force  —  move- 
ment. For  you  see  where  the  theatre  (even  the  poor 
distracted  and  desolate  theatre)  is  connected  with 
this  service.  The  theatres  of  all  lands,  east  and. 

47 


THE    SONS    OF    LOS 


west,  have  developed  (if  a  degenerate  development) 
from  movement,  the  movement  of  the  human  form. 
We  know  so  much,  for  it  is  on  record  :  and  before 
the  human  being  assumed  the  grave  responsibility 
of  using  his  own  person  as  an  instrument  through 
which  this  beauty  should  pass,  there  was  another 
and  a  wiser  race,  who  used  other  instruments. 

In  the  earliest  days  the  dancer  was  a  priest  or  a 
priestess,  and  not  a  gloomy  one  by  any  means  ;  too 
soon  to  degenerate  into  something  more  like  the 
acrobat,  and  finally  to  achieve  the  distinction  of  the 
ballet-dancer.  By  association  with  the  minstrel, 
the  actor  appeared.  I  do  not  hold,  that  with  the 
renaissance  of  the  dance  comes  the  renaissance  of 
the  ancient  art  of  the  Theatre,  for  I  do  not  hold  that 
the  ideal  dancer  is  the  perfect  instrument  for  the 
expression  of  all  that  is  most  perfect  in  movement. 
The  ideal  dancer,  male  or  female,  is  able  by  the 
strength  or  grace  of  the  body  to  express  much  of  the 
strength  and  grace  which  is  in  human  nature,  but 
it  cannot  express  all,  nor  a  thousandth  part  of  that 
all.  For  the  same  truth  applies  to  the  dancer  and 
to  all  those  who  use  their  own  person  as  instrument. 
Alas  !  the  human  body  refuses  to  be  an  instrument, 
even  to  the  mind  which  lodges  in  that  body.  The 
sons  of  Los  rebelled  and  still  rebel  against  their 
father.  The  old  divine  unity,  the  divine  square, 
the  peerless  circle  of  our  nature  has  been  ruthlessly 
broken  by  our  moods,  and  no  longer  can  instinct 

design  the  square  or  draw  the  circle  on  the  grey  wall 

48 


JULIUS     CAESAR 
ACT  II.  SCENE  II. 

Before  you  like  or  dislike  this  design  will  you  do  me  the  fairness 
of  reading  Act  II.  scene  ii.  It's  an  exciting  scene,  and  will  repay 
your  pains. 

Then,  if  you  are  an  ador-manager  and  you  dislike  it,  will  you 
design  a  better?  If  only  one  of  these  so-called  actor -manager  - 
producers,  who  never  have  really  "  produced "  anything,  would 
let  us  all  see  him  designing  anything,  I'm  sure  we  should  all  be 
more  than  willing  to  applaud  his  honest  endeavours  and  perhaps 
his  achievement.  As  it  is,  he  has  to  call  in  people  to  do  his 
work  for  him.  Hence  the  awful  expense— hence  the  patchwork 
results — the  dishonesty  of  the  whole  system. 


\Face pagt  48. 


THE  TRANSLATING    INSTRUMENT 

before  it.  But  with  a  significant  gesture  we  thrill 
our  souls  once  more  to  advance  without  our  bodies 
upon  a  new  road  and  win  it  all  back  again.  This  is  a 
truth  which  is  not  open  to  argument,  and  a  truth 
which  does  not  lessen  the  beauty  which  exhales 
from  the  dearest  singer  or  the  dearest  dancer  of  all 
times. 

To  me  there  is  ever  something  more  seemly  in 
man  when  he  invents  an  instrument  which  is  outside 
his  person,  and  through  that  instrument  translates 
his  message.  I  have  a  greater  admiration  for  the 
organ,  for  the  flute  and  for  the  lute  than  I  have  for 
the  human  voice  when  used  as  instrument.  I  have 
a  greater  feeling  of  admiration  and  fitness  when  I 
see  a  machine  which  is  made  to  fly  than  when  I  see 
a  man  attaching  to  himself  the  wings  of  a  bird. 
For  a  man  through  his  person  can  conquer  but 
little  things,  but  through  his  mind  he  can  conceive 
and  invent  that  which  shall  conquer  all  things. 

I  believe  not  at  all  in  the  personal  magic  of  man, 
but  only  in  his  impersonal  magic.  It  seems  to  me 
that  we  should  not  forget  that  we  belong  to  a 
period  after  the  Fall  and  not  before  it.  I  can  at  least 
extract  a  certain  hint  from  the  old  story.  And 
though  it  may  be  only  a  story,  I  feel  that  it  is  just 
the  very  story  for  the  artist.  In  that  great  period 
previous  to  this  event  we  can  see  in  our  mind's  eye 
the  person  of  man  in  so  perfect  a  state  that  merely 
to  wish  to  fly  was  to  fly,  merely  to  desire  that  which 
we  call  the  impossible  was  to  achieve  it.  We  seem 
E  49 


o   THE    NAME    OF    THIS    ART  o 

to  see  man  flying  into  the  air  or  diving  into  the 
depths  and  taking  no  harm  therefrom.  We  see 
no  foolish  clothes,  we  are  aware  of  no  hunger  and 
thirst.  But  now  that  we  are  conscious  that  this 
"  square  deific  "  has  been  broken  in  upon,  we  must 
realize  that  no  longer  is  man  to  advance  and 
proclaim  that  his  person  is  the  perfect  and  fitting 
medium  for  the  expression  of  the  perfect  thought. 
So  we  have  to  banish  from  our  mind  all  thought 
of  the  use  of  a  human  form  as  the  instrument  which 
we  are  to  use  to  translate  what  we  call  Movement. 
We  shall  be  all  the  stronger  without  it.  We  shall 
no  longer  waste  time  and  courage  in  a  vain  hope. 
The  exact  name  by  which  this  art  will  be  known 
cannot  yet  be  decided  on,  but  it  would  be  a  mistake 
to  return  and  look  for  names  in  China,  India  or 
Greece.  We  have  words  enough  in  our  English 
language,  and  let  the  English  word  become  familiar 
to  the  tongues  of  all  the  nations.  I  have  written 
elsewhere,  and  shall  continue  to  write,  all  about  this 
matter  as  it  grows  in  me,  and  you  from  time  to 
time  will  read  what  I  write.  But  I  shall  not  remove 
from  you  the  very  difficulty  which  will  be  the  source 
of  your  pleasure ;  I  wish  to  leave  all  open  and  to 
make  no  definite  rules  as  to  how  and  by  what  means 
these  movements  are  to  be  shown.  This  alone  let 
me  tell  you.  I  have  thought  of  and  begun  to  make 
my  instrument,  and  through  this  instrument  I 
intend  soon  to  venture  in  my  quest  of  beauty. 

How  do  I  know  whether  I  can  achieve  that  or  not  ? 

50 


0  THE    NAME    OF    THIS    ART  & 

Therefore  how  can  I  tell  you  definitely  what  are  the 
first  rules  which  you  have  to  learn  ?  Alone  and 
unaided  I  can  reach  no  final  results.  It  will  need 
the  force  of  the  whole  race  to  discover  all  the 
beauties  which  are  in  this  great  source,  this  new 
race  of  artists  to  which  you  belong.  When  I  have 
constructed  my  instrument,  and  permitted  it  to- 
make  its  first  assay,  I  look  to  others  to  make 
like  instruments.  Slowly,  and  from  the  principles 
which  rule  all  these  instruments  some  better  instru- 
ment will  be  made. 

I  am  guided  in  the  making  of  mine  by  only  the 
very  first  and  simplest  thoughts  which  I  am  able  to 
see  in  movement.  The  subtleties  and  the  compli- 
cated beauties  contained  in  movement  as  it  is  seen 
in  Nature,  these  I  dare  not  consider ;  I  do  not  think 

1  shall  ever  be  able  to   hope  to  approach  these. 
Yet  that  does  not  discourage  me  from  attempting 
some  of  the   plainest,  barest  and  simplest  move- 
ments ;  I  mean  those  which  seem  to  me  the  simplest, 
those  which  I  seem  to  understand.     And  after  I 
have  given  activity  to  those  I  suppose  I  shall  be 
permitted  to  continue  to  give  activity  to  the  like 
of  them;    but  I  am  entirely  conscious  that  they 
contain  but  the  simplest    of  rhythms,  the  great 
movements  will  not  yet  be  captured,  no,  not  for 
thousands  of  years.     But  when  they  come,  great 
health  comes  with  them,    for  we  shall  be  nearer 
balance  than  we  have  ever  been  before. 

I  think  that  movement  can  be  divided  into  two 
E  2  51 


THE    SQUARE    AND   THE  CIRCLE 

distinct  parts,  the  movement  of  two  and  four  which 

is  the  square,  the  movement  of  one  and  three  which 

is  the  circle.     There  is  ever  that  which  is  masculine 

in  the  square  and  ever  that  which  is  feminine  in  the 

circle      And  it  seems  to  me  that  before  the  female 

spirit  gives  herself  up,  and  with  the  male  goes  in 

quest  of  this  vast  treasure,  perfect  movement  will 

not  be  discovered ;  at  least,  I  like  to  suppose  all  this. 

And  I  like  to  suppose  that  this  art  which  shall 

spring  from  movement  will  be  the  first  and  final  belief 

of  the  world ;  and  I  like  to  dream  that  for  the  first 

time  in  the  world  men  and  women  will  achieve  this 

thing  together.     How  fresh,  how  beautiful  it  would 

be  !     And  as  this  is  a  new  beginning  it  lies  before 

men  and  before  women  of  the  next  centuries  as  a 

vast  possibility.     In  men  and  women  there  is  a  far 

greater  sense  of  movement  than  of  music.     Can  it 

be  that  this  idea  which  comes  to  me  now  will  at 

some  future    date    blossom  through  help  of  the 

woman  ? — or  will  it  be,  as  ever,  the  man's  part  to 

master  these  things  alone  ?    The  musician  is  a  male, 

the  builder  is  a  male,  the  painter  is  a  male,  and  the 

poet  is  a  male. 

Come  now,  here  is  an  opportunity  to  change 
all  this.  But  I  cannot  follow  the  thoughts  any 
farther  here,  neither  will  you  be  able  to. 

Get  on  with  the  thought  of  the  invention  of  an 
instrument  by  which  means  you  can  bring  move- 
ment before  our  eyes.  When  you  have  reached  this 
point  in  your  developments  you  need  have  no 

52 


THE    FIRST    AND    FINAL    BELIEF 

further  fear  of  hiding  your  feeling  or  your  opinion, 
but  may  step  forward  and  join  me  in  the  search. 
You  will  not  be  a  revolutionary  against  the  Theatre, 
for  you  will  have  risen  above  the  Theatre,  and 
entered  into  something  beyond  it.  Maybe  you  will 
pursue  a  scientific  method  on  your  search,  and  that 
will  lead  to  very  valuable  results.  There  must  be  a 
hundred  roads  leading  to  this  point — not  merely 
one ;  and  a  scientific  demonstration  of  all  that  you 
may  discover  can  in  no  way  harm  this  thing. 

Well,  do  you  see  any  value  in  the  thing  I  give 
you  ?  If  you  do  not  at  first  you  will  by  and  by. 
I  could  not  expect  a  hundred  or  even  fifty,  no, 
not  ten,  to  understand.  But  one  ?  It  is  possible 
—just  possible.  And  that  one  will  understand  that 
I  write  here  of  things,  dealing  with  to-day — dealing 
with  to-morrow  and  with  the  future,  and  he  will  be 
careful  not  to  confound  these  three  separate  periods. 

I  believe  in  each  period  and  in  the  necessity  of 
undergoing  the  experience  each  has  to  offer. 

I  believe  in  the  time  when  we  shall  be  able  to 
create  works  of  art  in  the  Theatre  without  the  use 
of  the  written  play,  without  the  use  of  actors ;  but 
I  believe  also  in  the  necessity  of  daily  work  under 
the  conditions  which  are  to-day  offered  us. 

The  word  TO-DAY  is  good,  and  the  word  TO- 
MORROW is  good,  and  the  words  THE  FUTURE  are 
divine — but  the  word  which  links  all  these  words 
is  more  perfect  than  all ;  it  is  that  balancing  word 
AND. 

53 


THE  ACTOE  AND  THE 
tTBEK-MAKIONETTE  0  0 

INSCRIBED  IN  ALL  AFFECTION  TO  MY  GOOD 
FRIENDS,  DE  VOS  AND  ALEXANDER  HEVESI 

"  To  SAVE  THE  THEATRE,  THE  THEATRE  MUST  BE 

DESTROYED,  THE  ACTORS  AND  ACTRESSES  MUST  ALL 
DIE  OF  THE  PLAGUE.  .  .  .  THEY  MAKE  ART  IMPOS- 
SIBLE."— ELEONORA  DUSE  :  Studies  in  Seven  Arts, 
ARTHUR  SYMONS.  (CONSTABLE,  1900.) 

IT  has  always  been  a  matter  for  argument 
whether  or  no  Acting  is  an  art,  and  therefore 
whether  the  actor  is  an  Artist,  or  something  quite 
different.  There  is  little  to  show  us  that  this  ques- 
tion disturbed  the  minds  of  the  leaders  of  thought 
at  any  period,  though  there  is  much  evidence  to 
prove  that  had  they  chosen  to  approach  this 
subject  as  one  for  their  serious  consideration, 
they  would  have  applied  to  it  the  same  method 
of  inquiry  as  used  when  considering  the  arts  of 
Music  and  Poetry,  of  Architecture,  Sculpture  and 
Painting. 

On  the  other  hand  there  have  been  many  warm 
arguments  in  certain  circles  on  this  topic.  Those 
taking  part  in  it  have  seldom  been  actors,  very  rarely 
men  of  the  Theatre  at  all,  and  all  have  displayed 
any  amount  of  illogical  heat  and  very  little  know- 
ledge of  the  subject.  The  arguments  against  acting 
being  an  art,  and  against  the  actor  being  an  artist, 

54 


UNREASONABLE    ATTACKS 

are  generally  so  unreasonable  and  so  personal  in 
their  detestation  of  the  actor,  that  I  think  it  is  for 
this  reason  the  actors  have  taken  no  trouble  to 
go  into  the  matter.  So  now  regularly  with  each 
season  comes  the  quarterly  attack  on  the  actor 
and  on  his  jolly  calling;  the  attack  usually  ending 
in  the  retirement  of  the  enemy.  As  a  rule  it  is 
the  literary  or  private  gentlemen  who  fill  the 
enemy's  rank.  On  the  strength  of  having  gone  to 
see  plays  all  their  lives,  or  on  the  strength  of  never 
having  gone  to  see  a  play  in  their  lives,  they  attack 
for  some  reason  best  known  to  themselves.  I  have 
followed  these  regular  attacks  season  by  season, 
and  they  seem  mostly  to  spring  from  irritability, 
personal  enmity,  or  conceit.  They  are  illogical 
from  beginning  to  end.  There  can  be  no  such 
attack  made  on  the  actor  or  his  calling.  My 
intention  here  is  not  to  join  in  any  such  attempt ; 
I  would  merely  place  before  you  what  seem  to  me 
to  be  the  logical  facts  of  a  curious  case,  and  I 
believe  that  these  admit  of  no  dispute  whatever. 

ACTING  is  not  an  art.  It  is  therefore  incorrect 
to  speak  of  the  actor  as  an  artist.  For  acci- 
dent is  an  enemy  of  the  artist.  Art  is  the  exact 
antithesis  of  pandemonium,  and  pandemonium  is 
created  by  the  tumbling  together  of  many  acci- 
dents. Art  arrives  only  by  design.  Therefore  in 
order  to  make  any  work  of  art  it  is  clear  we 
may  only  work  in  those  materials  with  which 

55 


o    ACTING    IS    NOT    AN    ART    o 

we    can   calculate.      Man    is    not    one    of    these 
materials. 

The  whole  nature  of  man  tends  towards  freedom ; 
he  therefore  carries  the  proof  in  his  own  person 
that  as  material  for  the  Theatre  he  is  useless.  In 
the  modern  theatre,  owing  to  the  use  of  the  bodies 
of  men  and  women  as  their  material,  all  which  is 
presented  there  is  of  an  accidental  nature.  The 
actions  of  the  actor's  body,  the  expression  of  his 
face,  the  sounds  of  his  voice,  all  are  at  the  mercy 
of  the  winds  of  his  emotions :  these  winds,  which 
must  blow  for  ever  round  the  artist,  moving 
without  unbalancing  him.  But  with  the  actor, 
emotion  possesses  him;  it  seizes  upon  his  limbs, 
moving  them  whither  it  will.  He  is  at  its  beck 
and  call,  he  moves  as  one  in  a  frantic  dream  or  as 
one  distraught,  swaying  here  and  there;  his  head, 
his  arms,  his  feet,  if  not  utterly  beyond  control, 
are  so  weak  to  stand  against  the  torrent  of  his 
passions,  that  they  are  ready  to  play  him  false  at 
any  moment.  It  is  useless  for  him  to  attempt  to 
reason  with  himself.  Hamlet's  calm  directions 
(the  dreamer's,  not  the  logician's  directions,  by  the 
way)  are  thrown  to  the  winds.  His  limbs  refuse, 
and  refuse  again  to  obey  his  mind  the  instant 
emotion  warms,  while  the  mind  is  all  the  time 
creating  the  heat  which  shall  set  these  emotions 
afire.  As  with  his  movement,  so  is  it  with  the 
expression  of  his  face.  The  mind  struggling  and 
succeeding  for  a  moment,  in  moving  the  eyes,  or 

56 


EMOTION   CONSPIRES  AGAINST  ART 

the  muscles  of  the  face  whither  it  will;  the  mind 
bringing  the  face  for  a  few  moments  into  thorough 
subjection,  is  suddenly  swept  aside  by  the  emotion 
which  has  grown  hot  through  the  action  of  the  mind. 
Instantly,  like  lightning,  and  before  the  mind  has 
time  to  cry  out  and  protest,  the  hot  passion  has 
mastered  the  actor's  expression.  It  shifts  and 
changes,  sways  and  turns,  it  is  chased  by  emotion 
from  the  actor's  forehead  between  his  eyes  and 
down  to  his  mouth ;  now  he  is  entirely  at  the  mercy 
of  emotion,  and  crying  out  to  it :  "  Do  with  me  what 
you  will  !  "  His  expression  runs  a  mad  riot  hither 
and  thither,  and  lo !  "  Nothing  is  coming  of 
nothing."  It  is  the  same  with  his  voice  as  it  is 
with  his  movements.  Emotion  cracks  the  voice 
of  the  actor.  It  sways  his  voice  to  join  in  the 
conspiracy  against  his  mind.  Emotion  works 
upon  the  voice  of  the  actor,  and  he  produces  the 
impression  of  discordant  emotion.  It  is  of  no  avail 
to  say  that  emotion  is  the  spirit  of  the  gods,  and 
is  precisely  what  the  artist  aims  to  produce ;  first 
of  all  this  is  not  true,  and  even  if  it  were  quite  true, 
every  stray  emotion,  every  casual  feeling,  cannot 
be  of  value.  Therefore  the  mind  of  the  actor,  we 
see,  is  less  powerful  than  his  emotion,  for  emotion 
is  able  to  win  over  the  mind  to  assist  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  that  which  the  mind  would  produce;  and 
as  the  mind  becomes  the  slave  of  the  emotion  it 
follows  that  accident  upon  accident  must  be 
continually  occurring.  So  then,  we  have  arrived 

57 


EMOTION   CONSPIRES  AGAINST  ART 

at  this  point :  that  emotion  is  the  cause  which 
first  of  all  creates,  and  secondly  destroys.  Art,  as 
we  have  said,  can  admit  of  no  accidents.  That, 
then,  which  the  actor  gives  us,  is  not  a  work  of  art ; 
it  is  a  series  of  accidental  confessions.  In  the  be- 
ginning the  human  body  was  not  used  as  material 
in  the  Art  of  the  Theatre.  In  the  beginning  the 
emotions  of  men  and  women  were  not  considered 
as  a  fit  exhibition  for  the  multitude.  An  elephant 
and  a  tiger  in  an  arena  suited  the  taste  better, 
when  the  desire  was  to  excite.  The  passionate 
tussle  between  the  elephant  and  the  tiger  gives  us 
all  the  excitement  that  we  can  get  from  the  modern 
stage,  and  can  give  it  us  unalloyed.  Such  an 
exhibition  is  not  more  brutal,  it  is  more  delicate, 
it  is  more  humane;  for  there  is  nothing  more 
outrageous  than  that  men  and  women  should  be 
let  loose  on  a  platform,  so  that  they  may  expose 
that  which  artists  refuse  to  show  except  veiled,  in 
the  form  which  their  minds  create.  How  it  was 
that  man  was  ever  persuaded  to  take  the  place 
which  until  that  time  animals  had  held  is  not 
difficult  to  surmise. 

The  man  with  the  greater  learning  comes  across 
the  man  with  the  greater  temperament.  He 
addresses  him  in  something  like  the  following 
terms  :  "  You  have  a  most  superb  countenance ; 
what  magnificent  movements  you  make  !  Your 
voice,  it  is  like  the  singing  of  birds ;  and  how  your 

eye  flashes  !     What  a  noble  impression  you  give  ! 

58 


€OMEDY    OF    AUTHOR    AND    ACTOR 

You  almost  resemble  a  god  !  I  think  all  people 
should  have  pointed  out  to  them  this  wonder 
which  is  contained  in  you.  I  will  write  a  few  words 
which  you  shall  address  to  the  people.  You  shall 
stand  before  them,  and  you  shall  speak  my  lines 
just  as  you  will.  It  is  sure  to  be  perfectly  right." 

And  the  man  of  temperament  replies  :  "  Is  that 
really  so  ?  Do  I  strike  you  as  appearing  as  a  god  ? 
It  is  the  very  first  time  I  have  ever  thought  of  it. 
And  do  you  think  that  by  appearing  in  front  of 
the  people  I  could  make  an  impression  which  might 
benefit  them,  and  would  fill  them  with  enthusiasm  ? 
;' No,  no,  no,"  says  the  intelligent  man;  "by 
no  means  only  by  appearing ;  but  if  you  have 
something  to  say  you  will  indeed  create  a  great 
impression." 

The  other  answers  :  "  I  think  I  shall  have  some 
difficulty  in  speaking  your  lines.  I  could  easier 
just  appear,  and  say  something  instinctive,  such 
as  '  Salutation  to  all  men  ! '  I  feel  perhaps  that  I 
should  be  able  to  be  more  myself  if  I  acted  in  that 
way."  "  That  is  an  excellent  idea,"  replies  the 
tempter,  "  that  idea  of  yours :  *  Salutation  to  all 
men  ! '  On  that  theme  I  will  compose  say  one 
hundred  or  two  hundred  lines;  you'll  be  the  very 
man  to  speak  those  lines.  You  have  yourself 
suggested  it  to  me.  Salutation  !  Is  it  agreed, 
then,  that  you  will  do  this  ?  "  "  If  you  wish  it," 
replies  the  other,  with  a  good-natured  lack  of 
reason,  and  flattered  beyond  measure. 

59 


TRAGEDY   OF   AUTHOR    AND  ACTOR 

And  so  the  comedy  of  author  and  actor  com- 
mences. The  young  man  appears  before  the 
multitude  and  speaks  the  lines,  and  the  speaking 
of  them  is  a  superb  advertisement  for  the  art  of 
literature.  After  the  applause  the  young  man  is 
swiftly  forgotten;  they  even  forgive  the  way  he 
has  spoken  the  lines ;  but  as  it  was  an  original  and 
new  idea  at  the  time,  the  author  found  it  profit- 
able, and  shortly  afterwards  other  authors  found 
it  an  excellent  thing  to  use  handsome  and  buoyant 
men  as  instruments.  It  mattered  nothing  to  them 
that  the  instrument  was  a  human  creature.  Al- 
though they  knew  not  the  stops  of  the  instrument,, 
they  could  play  rudely  upon  him  and  they  found 
him  useful.  And  so  to-day  we  have  the  strange 
picture  of  a  man  content  to  give  forth  the  thoughts 
of  another,  which  that  other  has  given  form  to 
while  at  the  same  time  he  exhibits  his  person  to 
the  public  view.  He  does  it  because  he  is  flattered ; 
and  vanity — will  not  reason.  But  all  the  time, 
and  however  long  the  world  may  last,  the  nature 
in  man  will  fight  for  freedom,  and  will  revolt  against 
being  made  a  slave  or  medium  for  the  expression 
of  another's  thoughts.  The  whole  thing  is  a  very 
grave  matter  indeed,  and  it  is  no  good  to  push  it 
aside  and  protest  that  the  actor  is  not  the  medium 
for  another's  thoughts,  and  that  he  invests  with 
life  the  dead  words  of  an  author;  because  even 
if  this  were  true  (true  it  cannot  be),  and  even  if  the 
actor  were  to  present  none  but  the  ideas  which  he 

60 


o  THE     WAY    OUT  o 

himself  should  compose,  his  nature  would  still  be 
in  servitude;  his  body  would  have  to  become  the 
slave  of  his  mind ;  and  that,  as  I  have  shown,  is  what 
the  healthy  body  utterly  refuses  to  do.  Therefore 
the  body  of  man,  for  the  reason  which  I  have 
given,  is  &;/  naturr  utterly  useless  as  a  material 
for  an  art.  I  am  fully  aware  of  the  sweeping 
character  of  this  statement;  and  as  it  concerns 
men  and  women  who  are  alive,  and  who  as  a  class 
are  ever  to  be  loved,  more  must  be  said  lest  I  give 
unintentional  offence.  I  know  perfectly  well  that 
what  I  have  said  here  is  not  yet  going  to  create 
an  exodus  of  all  the  actors  from  all  the  theatres 
in  the  world,  driving  them  into  sad  monasteries 
where  they  will  laugh  out  the  rest  of  their  lives, 
with  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  as  the  main  topic  for 
amusing  conversation.  As  I  have  written  else- 
where, the  Theatre  will  continue  its  growth  and 
actors  will  continue  for  some  years  to  hinder  its 
development.  But  I  see  a  loop-hole  by  which  in 
time  the  actors  can  escape  from  the  bondage  they 
are  in.  They  must  create  for  themselves  a  new 
form  of  acting,  consisting  for  the  main  part  of 
symbolical  gesture.  To-day  they  impersonate  and 
interpret;  to-morrow  they  must  represent  and  in- 
terpret; and  the  third  day  they  must  create.  By 
this  means  style  may  return.  To-day  the  actor 
impersonates  a  certain  being.  He  cries  to  the 
audience  :  "  Watch  me;  I  am  now  pretending  to 

be  so  and  so,  and  I  am  now  pretending  to  do  so 

61 


o     THE    ACTOR    IMITATES      ^ 

and  so;  "  and  then  he  proceeds  to  imitate  as  ex- 
actly as  possible,  that  which  he  has  announced  he 
will  indicate.  For  instance,  he  is  Romeo.  He  tells 
the  audience  that  he  is  in  love,  and  he  proceeds- 
to  show  it,  by  kissing  Juliet.  This,  it  is  claimed,  is 
a  work  of  art :  it  is  claimed  for  this  that  it  is 
an  intelligent  way  of  suggesting  thought.  Why — 
why,  that  is  just  as  if  a  painter  were  to  draw  upon 
the  wall  a  picture  of  an  animal  with  long  ears 
and  then  write  under  it  "  This  is  a  donkey."  The 
long  ears  made  it  plain  enough,  one  would  think, 
without  the  inscription,  and  any  child  of  ten  does 
as  much.  The  difference  between  the  child  of 
ten  and  the  artist  is  that  the  artist  is  he  who 
by  drawing  certain  signs  and  shapes  creates  the 
impression  of  a  donkey :  and  the  greater  artist  is 
he  who  creates  the  impression  of  the  whole  genus 
of  donkey,  the  spirit  of  the  thing. 

The  actor  looks  upon  life  as  a  photo-machine 
looks  upon  life ;  and  he  attempts  to  make  a  picture 
to  rival  a  photograph.  He  never  dreams  of  his 
art  as  being  an  art  such  for  instance  as  music.  He 
tries  to  reproduce  Nature;  he  seldom  thinks  to 
invent  with  the  aid  of  Nature,  and  he  never  dreams 
of  creating.  As  I  have  said,  the  best  he  can  do 
when  he  wants  to  catch  and  convey  the  poetry 
of  a  kiss,  the  heat  of  a  fight,  or  the  calm  of  deathr 
is  to  copy  slavishly,  photographically — he  kisses- 
he  fights — he  lies  back  and  mimics  death — andr 
when  you  think  of  it,  is  not  all  this  dreadfully 

62 


ACTOR   WOULD  RIVAL  PHOTOGRAPHER 

stupid  ?  Is  it  not  a  poor  art  and  a  poor  cleverness, 
which  cannot  convey  the  spirit  and  essence  of  an 
idea  to  an  audience,  but  can  only  show  an  artless 
copy,  a  facsimile  of  the  thing  itself  ?  This  is  to  be 
an  imitator,  not  an  artist.  This  is  to  claim  kin- 
ship with  the  ventriloquist.1 

There  is  a  stage  expression  of  the  actor  "  getting 
under  the  skin  of  the  part."  A  better  one  would 
be  getting  "  out  of  the  skin  of  the  part  altogether." 
"  What,  then,"  cries  the  red-blooded  and  flashing 
actor,  "  is  there  to  be  no  flesh  and  blood  in  this 
same  art  of  the  theatre  of  yours  ?  No  life  ? " 
It  depends  what  you  call  life,  signer,  when  you  use 
the  word  in  relation  with  the  idea  of  art.  The 
painter  means  something  rather  different  to  actual- 
ity when  he  speaks  of  life  in  his  art,  and  the 
other  artists  generally  mean  something  essentially 
spiritual ;  it  is  only  the  actor,  the  ventriloquist,  or 
the  animal-stuffer  who,  when  they  speak  of  putting 
life  into  their  work,  mean  some  actual  and  lifelike 

1  "  And  therefore  when  any  one  of  these  pantomimic  gentle- 
men, who  are  so  clever  that  they  can  imitate  anything,  comes  to 
us,  and  makes  a  proposal  to  exhibit  himself  and  his  poetry,  we 
will  fall  down  and  worship  him  as  a  sweet  and  holy  and  wonder- 
ful being ;  but  we  must  also  inform  him  that  in  our  State  such 
as  he  are  not  permitted  to  exist :  the  law  will  not  allow  them. 
And  so,  when  we  have  anointed  him  with  myrrh,  and  set  a 
garland  of  wool  upon  his  head,  we  shall  lead  him  away  to 
another  city.  For  we  mean  to  employ  for  our  soul's  health  the 
rougher  and  severer  poet  or  story-teller,  who  will  imitate  the 
style  of  the  virtuous  only,  and  will  follow  those  models  which  we 
prescribed  at  first  when  we  began  the  education  of  our  soldiers." 
— PLATO.  [The  whole  passage  being  too  long  to  print  here,  we 
refer  the  reader  to  The  Republic,  Book  III.  p.  395.] 

63 


ACTOR,    ARTIST,    MUSICIAN 

reproduction,  something  blatant  in  its  appeal,  that 
it  is  for  this  reason  I  say  that  it  would  be  better 
if  the  actor  should  get  out  of  the  skin  of  the  part 
altogether.  If  there  is  any  actor  who  is  reading 
this,  is  there  not  some  way  by  which  I  can  make 
him  realize  the  preposterous  absurdity  of  this 
delusion  of  his,  this  belief  that  he  should  aim  to 
make  an  actual  copy,  a  reproduction  ?  I  am  going 
to  suppose  that  such  an  actor  is  here  with  me 
as  I  talk ;  and  I  invite  a  musician  and  a  painter 
to  join  us.  Let  them  speak.  I  have  had  enough 
of  seeming  to  decry  the  work  of  the  actor  from 
trivial  motives.  I  have  spoken  this  way  because 
of  my  love  of  the  Theatre,  and  because  of  my 
hopes  and  belief  that  before  long  an  extraordinary 
development  is  to  raise  and  revive  that  which  is 
failing  in  the  Theatre,  and  my  hope  and  belief  that 
the  actor  will  bring  the  force  of  his  courage  to  assist 
in  this  revival.  My  attitude  towards  the  whole 
matter  is  misunderstood  by  many  in  the  Theatre. 
It  is  considered  to  be  my  attitude,  mine  alone;  a 
stray  quarreller  I  seem  to  be  in  their  eyes,  a  pessi- 
mist, grumbling;  one  who  is  tired  of  a  thing  and 
who  attempts  to  break  it.  Therefore  let  the  other 
artists  speak  with  the  actor,  and  let  the  actor 
support  his  own  case  as  best  he  may,  and  let  him 
listen  to  their  opinion  on  matters  of  art.  We 
sit  here  conversing,  the  actor,  the  musician,  the 
painter  and  myself.  I  who  represent  an  art  distinct 
from  all  these,  shall  remain  silent. 

64 


THEIR    DIFFERENT    ATTITUDES 

As  we  sit  here,  the  talk  first  turns  upon  Nature. 
We  are  surrounded  by  beautiful  curving  hills  and 
trees,  vast  and  towering  mountains  in  the  distance 
covered  with  snow ;  around  us  innumerable  delicate 
sounds  of  Nature  stirring — Life.  "  How  beautiful," 
says  the  painter,  "  how  beautiful  the  sense  of  all 
this  !  "  He  is  dreaming  of  the  almost  impossi- 
bility of  conveying  on  to  his  canvas  the  full  earthly 
and  spiritual  value  of  that  which  is  around  him, 
yet  he  faces  the  thing  as  man  generally  faces  that 
which  is  most  dangerous.  The  musician  gazes 
upon  the  ground.  The  actor's  is  an  inward  and 
personal  gaze  at  himself.  He  is  unconsciously 
enjoying  the  sense  of  himself,  as  representing  the 
main  and  central  figure  in  a  really  good  scene.  He 
strides  across  the  space  between  us  and  the  view, 
sweeping  in  a  half  circle,  and  he  regards  the  superb 
panorama  without  seeing  it,  conscious  of  one  thing 
only,  himself  and  his  attitude.  Of  course  an 
actress  would  stand  there  meek  in  the  presence  of 
Nature.  She  is  but  a  little  thing,  a  little  picturesque 
atom;  for  picturesque  we  know  she  is  in  every 
movement,  in  the  sigh  which,  almost  unheard  by 
the  rest  of  us,  she  conveys  to  her  audience  and  to 
herself,  that  she  is  there,  "  little  me,"  in  the  presence 
of  the  God  that  made  her,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
sentimental  nonsense.  So  we  are  all  collected  here, 
and  having  taken  the  attitudes  natural  to  us, 
we  proceed  to  question  each  other.  And  let  us 
imagine  that  for  once  we  are  all  really  interested 
F  65 


THEY    SHALL    SPEAK     THE    TRUTH 

in  finding  out  all  about  the  other's  interests,  and 
the  other's  work.  (I  grant  that  this  is  very  un- 
usual, and  that  mind-selfishness,  the  highest  form 
of  stupidity,  encloses  many  a  professed  artist 
somewhat  tightly  in  a  little  square  box.)  But  let 
us  take  it  for  granted  that  there  is  a  general  interest ; 
that  the  actor  and  the  musician  wish  to  learn  some- 
thing about  the  art  of  painting;  and  that  the 
painter  and  the  musician  wish  to  understand  from 
the  actor  what  his  work  consists  of  and  whether 
and  why  he  considers  it  an  art.  For  here  they  shall 
not  mince  matters,  but  shall  speak  that  which  they 
believe.  As  they  are  looking  only  for  the  truth, 
they  have  nothing  to  fear ;  they  are  all  good  fellows, 
all  good  friends;  not  thin-skinned,  and  can  give 
and  take  blows.  "  Tell  us,"  asks  the  painter,  "  is 
it  true  that  before  you  can  act  a  part  properly  you 
must  feel  the  emotions  of  the  character  you  are 
representing  ?  "  "  Oh  well,  yes  and  no ;  it  depends 
what  you  mean,"  answers  the  actor.  "  We  have 
first  to  be  able  to  feel  and  sympathize  and  also 
criticize  the  emotions  of  a  character;  we  look  at  it 
from  a  distance  before  we  close  with  it :  we  gather 
as  much  as  we  can  from  the  text  and  we  call  to 
mind  all  the  emotions  suitable  for  this  character 
to  exhibit.  After  having  many  times  rearranged 
and  selected  those  emotions  which  we  consider 
of  importance  we  then  practise  to  reproduce  them 
before  the  audience ;  and  in  order  to  do  so  we  must 
feel  as  little  as  is  necessary ;  in  fact  the  less  we  feel, 

66 


PERFECT    ACTING    IMPOSSIBLE 

the  firmer  will  our  hold  be  upon  our  facial  and 
bodily  expression."  With  a  gesture  of  genial  im- 
patience, the  artist  rises  to  his  feet  and  paces  to 
and  fro.  He  had  expected  his  friend  to  say  that 
it  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  emotions,  and 
that  he  could  control  his  face,  features,  voice  and 
all,  just  as  if  his  body  were  an  instrument.  The 
musician  sinks  down  deeper  into  his  chair.  "  But 
has  there  never  been  an  actor,"  asks  the  artist, 
"  who  has  so  trained  his  body  from  head  to  foot 
that  it  would  answer  to  the  workings  of  his  mind 
without  permitting  the  emotions  even  so  much  as 
to  awaken  ?  Surely  there  must  have  been  one 
actor,  say  one  out  of  ten  millions,  who  has  done 
this?  "  "  No,"  says  the  actor  emphatically,  "never, 
never ;  there  never  has  been  an  actor  who  reached 
such  a  state  of  mechanical  perfection  that  his  body 
was  absolutely  the  slave  of  his  mind.  Edmund  Kean 
of  England,  Salvini  of  Italy,  Rachel,  Eleonora 
Duse,  I  call  them  all  to  mind  and  I  repeat  there 
never  was  an  actor  or  actress  such  as  you  describe." 
The  artist  here  asks :  "  Then  you  admit  that  it 
would  be  a  state  of  perfection  ? "  "  Why,  of 
course  !  But  it  is  impossible ;  will  always  be  im- 
possible," cries  the  actor;  and  he  rises — almost 
with  a  sense  of  relief.  "  That  is  as  much  as  to  say, 
there  never  was  a  perfect  actor,  there  has  never 
been  an  actor  who  has  not  spoiled  his  performance 
once,  twice,  ten  times,  sometimes  a  hundred  times, 
during  the  evening  ?  There  never  has  been  a 
F  2  67 


THE     WILL    OF    THE    ARTIST 

piece  of  acting  which  could  be  called  even  almost 
perfect,  and  there  never  will  be  ?  "  For  answer 
the  actor  asks  quickly :  "  But  has  there  been  ever 
a  painting,  or  a  piece  of  architecture,  or  a  piece  of 
music  which  may  be  called  perfect  ? "  "  Un- 
doubtedly," they  reply.  "  The  laws  which  control 
our  arts  make  such  a  thing  possible."  "  A  picture, 
for  instance,"  continues  the  artist,  "  may  con- 
sist of  four  lines,  or  four  hundred  lines,  placed 
in  certain  positions ;  it  may  be  as  simple  as  possible, 
but  it  is  possible  to  make  it  perfect.  That  is  to 
say,  I  can  first  choose  that  which  is  to  make  the 
lines ;  I  can  choose  that  on  which  I  am  to  place 
the  lines  :  I  can  consider  this  as  long  as  I  like ; 
I  can  alter  it;  then  in  a  state  which  is  both  free 
from  excitement,  haste,  trouble,  nervousness — in 
fact,  in  any  state  I  choose  (and  of  course  I  prepare, 
wait,  and  select  that  also) — I  can  put  these  lines  to- 
gether— so — now  they  are  in  their  place.  Having 
my  material,  nothing  except  my  own  will  can  move 
or  alter  these ;  and,  as  I  have  said,  my  own  will  is 
entirely  under  my  control.  The  line  can  be  straight 
or  it  can  wave ;  it  can  be  round  if  I  choose,  and  there 
is  no  fear  that  when  I  wish  to  make  a  straight 
line  I  shall  make  a  curved  one,  or  that  when  I  wish 
to  make  a  curved  there  will  be  square  parts  about 
it.  And  when  it  is  ready — finished — it  undergoes 
no  change  but  that  which  Time,  who  finally  de- 
stroys it,  wills."  "  That  is  rather  an  extraordinary 
thing,"  replies  the  actor;  "  I  wish  it  were  possible 

68 


WORKS    OF    ART    AND    CHANCE 

in  my  work."  "  Yes,"  replies  the  artist,  "  it  is 
a  very  extraordinary  thing,  and  it  is  that  which  I 
hold  makes  the  difference  between  an  intelligent 
statement  and  a  casual  or  haphazard  statement. 
The  most  intelligent  statement,  that  is  a  work  of 
art.  The  haphazard  statement,  that  is  a  work  of 
chance.  When  the  intelligent  statement  reaches 
its  highest  possible  form  it  becomes  a  work  of  fine 
art.  And  therefore  I  have  always  held,  though  I 
may  be  mistaken,  that  your  work  has  not  the 
nature  of  an  art.  That  is  to  say  (and  you  have 
said  it  yourself)  each  statement  that  you  make  in 
your  work  is  subject  to  every  conceivable  change 
which  emotion  chooses  to  bring  about.  That  which 
you  conceive  in  your  mind,  your  body  is  not  per- 
mitted by  Nature  to  complete.  In  fact,  your 
body,  gaining  the  better  of  your  intelligence,  has 
in  many  instances  on  the  stage  driven  out  the  in- 
telligence altogether.  Some  actors  seem  to  say: 
'  What  value  lies  in  having  beautiful  ideas  ?  To 
what  end  shall  my  mind  conceive  a  fine  idea,  a  fine 
thought,  for  my  body,  which  is  so  entirely  beyond 
my  control,  to  spoil  ?  I  will  throw  my  mind 
overboard,  let  my  body  pull  me  and  the  play 
through ;  '  and  there  seems  to  me  to  be  some 
wisdom  in  the  standpoint  of  such  an  actor.  He 
does  not  dilly-dally  between  the  two  things  which 
are  contending  in  him,  the  one  against  the  other. 
He  is  not  a  bit  afraid  of  the  result.  He  goes  at  it 
like  a  man,  sometimes  a  trifle  too  like  a  centaur; 

69 


*>          THE    BRAVE    ACTOR          o 

he  flings  away  all  science,  all  caution,  all  reason, 
and  the  result  is  good  spirits  in  the  audience,  and 
for  that  they  pay  willingly.  But  we  are  here  talk- 
ing about  other  things  than  excellent  spirits,  and 
though  we  applaud  the  actor  who  exhibits  such  a 
personality  as  this,  I  feel  that  we  must  not  forget 
that  we  are  applauding  his  personality,  he  it  is  we 
applaud,  not  what  he  is  doing  or  how  he  is  doing 
it ;  nothing  to  do  with  art  at  all,  absolutely  nothing 
to  do  with  art,  with  calculation,  or  design." 
"  You're  a  nice  friendly  creature,"  laughs  the 
actor  gaily,  "  telling  me  my  art's  no  art !  But 
I  believe  I  see  what  you  mean.  You  mean  to  say 
that  before  I  appear  on  the  stage,  and  before  my 
body  commences  to  come  into  the  question,  I  am 
an  artist."  "  Well,  yes,  you  are,  you  happen  to 
be,  because  you  are  a  very  bad  actor;  you're 
abominable  on  the  stage,  but  you  have  ideas,  you 
have  imagination ;  you  are  rather  an  exception,  I 
should  say.  I  have  heard  you  tell  me  how  you 
would  play  Richard  III;  what  you  would  do; 
what  strange  atmosphere  you  would  spread  over 
the  whole  thing ;  and  that  which  you  have  told  me 
you  have  seen  in  the  play,  and  that  which  you 
have  invented  and  added  to  it,  is  so  remarkable, 
so  consecutive  in  its  thought,  so  distinct  and  clear 
in  form,  that  if  you  could  make  your  body  into  a 
machine,  or  into  a  dead  piece  of  material  such  as 
clay ;  and  if  it  could  obey  you  in  every  movement 
for  the  entire  space  of  time  it  was  before  the  audi- 

70 


LAWS  OF  THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE 

ence;  and  if  you  could  put  aside  Shakespeare's 
poem — you  would  be  able  to  make  a  work  of  art  out 
of  that  which  is  in  you.  For  you  would  not  only 
have  dreamt,  you  would  have  executed  to  per- 
fection ;  and  that  which  you  had  executed  could  be 
repeated  time  after  time  without  so  much  differ- 
ence as  between  two  farthings."  "  Ah,"  sighs  the 
actor,  "  you  place  a  terrible  picture  before  me. 
You  would  prove  to  me  that  it  is  impossible  for 
us  ever  to  think  of  ourselves  as  artists.  You  take 
away  our  finest  dream,  and  you  give  us  nothing  in 
its  place."  "  No,  no,  that's  not  for  me  to  give 
you.  That's  for  you  to  find.  Surely  there  must 
be  laws  at  the  roots  of  the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  just 
as  there  are  laws  at  the  roots  of  all  true  arts, 
which  if  found  and  mastered  would  bring  you 
all  you  desire  ?  "  "  Yes,  the  search  would  bring 
the  actors  to  a  wall."  "  Leap  it,  then  !  "  "  Too 
high  !  "  "  Scale  it,  then  !  "  "  How  do  we  know 
where  it  would  lead  ?  "  "  Why,  up  and  over." 
"  Yes,  but  that's  talking  wildly,  talking  in  the 
air."  "  Well,  that's  the  direction  you  fellows 
have  to  go ;  fly  in  the  air,  live  in  the  air.  Something 
will  follow  when  some  of  you  begin  to.  I  sup- 
pose," continues  he,  "  you  will  get  at  the  root  of 
the  matter  in  time,  and  then  what  a  splendid 
future  opens  before  you  !  In  fact,  I  envy  you. 
I  am  not  sure  I  do  not  wish  that  photography 
had  been  discovered  before  painting,  so  that  we 
of  this  generation  might  have  had  the  intense  joy 

71 


LESS  EXACT  THAN  PHOTOGRAPHY 

of  advancing,  showing  that  photography  was 
pretty  well  in  its  way,  but  there  was  something 
better  !  "  "  Do  you  hold  that  our  work  is  on  a 
level  with  photography  ?  "  "  No,  indeed,  it  is  not 
half  as  exact.  It  is  less  of  an  art  even  than 
photography.  In  fact,  you  and  I,  who  have  been 
talking  all  this  time  while  the  musician  has  sat 
silent,  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  chair, 
our  arts  by  the  side  of  his  art,  are  jokes,  games, 
absurdities."  At  which  the  musician  must  go  and 
spoil  the  whole  thing  by  getting  up  and  giving  vent 
to  some  foolish  remark.  The  actor  immediately  cries 
out,  "  But  I  don't  see  that  that's  such  a  wonder- 
ful remark  for  a  representative  of  the  only  art  in 
the  world  to  make,"  at  which  they  all  laugh — 
the  musician  in  a  sort  of  crest-fallen,  conscious 
manner.  "  My  dear  fellow,  that  is  just  because 
he  is  a  musician.  He  is  nothing  except  in  his 
music.  He  is,  in  fact,  somewhat  unintelligent, 
except  when  he  speaks  in  notes,  in  tones,  and  in 
the  rest  of  it.  He  hardly  knows  our  language, 
he  hardly  knows  our  world,  and  the  greater  the 
musician,  the  more  is  this  noticeable;  indeed  it  is 
rather  a  bad  sign  when  you  meet  a  composer  who 
is  intelligent.  And  as  for  the  intellectual  musician, 

why,  that   means  another ;    but   we   mustn't 

whisper  that  name  here — he  is  so  popular  to-day. 
What  an  actor  the  man  would  have  been,  and  what 
a  personality  he  had  !  I  understand  that  all  his 
life  he  had  yearnings  towards  being  an  actor,  and 

72 


A     N  EW    HO  P  E 


I  believe  he  would  have  been  an  excellent  comedian, 
whereas  he  became  a  musician  —  or  was  it  a  play- 
wright ?  Anyhow,  it  all  turned  out  a  great 
success  —  a  success  of  personality."  "  Was  it  not 
a  success  of  art  ?  "  asks  the  musician.  "  Well, 
which  art  do  you  mean  ?  "  "  Oh,  all  the  arts 
combined,"  he  replies,  blunderingly  but  placidly. 
"  How  can  that  be  ?  How  can  all  arts  combine 
and  make  one  art  ?  It  can  only  make  one  joke  — 
one  Theatre.  Things  which  slowly,  by  a  natural 
law  join  together,  may  have  some  right  in  the  course 
of  many  years  or  many  centuries  to  ask  Nature 
to  bestow  a  new  name  on  their  product.  Only  by 
this  means  can  a  new  art  be  born.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  the  old  mother  approves  of  the  forcing 
process;  and  if  she  ever  winks  at  it,  she  soon  has 
her  revenge  ;  and  so  it  is  with  the  arts.  You  cannot 
commingle  them  and  cry  out  that  you  have  created 
a  new  art.  //  you  can  find  in  Nature  a  new  material, 
one  which  has  never  yet  been  used  by  man  to  give 
form  to  his  thoughts,  then  you  can  say  that  you  are 
on  the  high  road  towards  creating  a  new  art.  For 
you  have  found  that  by  which  you  can  create  it.  It 
then  only  remains  for  you  to  begin.  The  Theatre, 
as  I  see  it,  has  yet  to  find  that  material."  And 
thus  their  conversation  ends. 

For  my  part  I  am  with  the  artist's  last  state- 
ment. My  pleasure  shall  not  be  to  compete  with 
the  strenuous  photographer,  and  I  shall  ever  aim 
to  get  something  entirely  opposed  to  life  as  we  see 

78 


A    MYSTERIOUS    BEAUTY 

it.  This  flesh-and-blood  life,  lovely  as  it  is  to  us 
all,  is  for  me  not  a  thing  made  to  search  into,  or  to 
give  out  again  to  the  world,  even  conventionalized. 
I  think  that  my  aim  shall  rather  be  to  catch  some 
far-off  glimpse  of  that  spirit  which  we  call  Death — 
to  recall  beautiful  things  from  the  imaginary  world ; 
they  say  they  are  cold,  these  dead  things,  I  do  not 
know — they  often  seem  warmer  and  more  living  than 
that  which  parades  as  life.  Shades — spirits  seem 
to  me  to  be  more  beautiful,  and  filled  with  more 
vitality  than  men  and  women;  cities  of  men  and 
women  packed  with  pettiness,  creatures  inhuman, 
secret,  coldest  cold,  hardest  humanity.  For,  look- 
ing too  long  upon  life,  may  one  not  find  all  this 
to  be  not  the  beautiful,  nor  the  mysterious,  nor  the 
tragic,  but  the  dull,  the  melodramatic,  and  the 
silly  :  the  conspiracy  against  vitality — against  both 
red  heat  and  white  heat  ?  And  from  such  things 
which  lack  the  sun  of  life  it  is  not  possible  to  draw 
inspiration.  But  from  that  mysterious,  joyous, 
and  superbly  complete  life  which  is  called  Death — 
that  life  of  shadow  and  of  unknown  shapes,  where 
all  cannot  be  blackness  and  fog  as  is  supposed, 
but  vivid  colour,  vivid  light,  sharp-cut  form;  and 
which  one  finds  peopled  with  strange,  fierce  and 
solemn  figures,  pretty  figures  and  calm  figures, 
and  those  figures  impelled  to  some  wondrous 
harmony  of  movement — all  this  is  something  more 
than  a  mere  matter  of  fact.  From  this  idea  of  death, 
which  seems  a  kind  of  spring,  a  blossoming — from 

74 


IMPERSONATION    UNDESIRABLE 

this  land  and  from  this  idea  can  come  so  vast  an 
inspiration,  that  with  unhesitating  exultation  I 
leap  forward  to  it ;  and  behold,  in  an  instant,  I  find 
my  arms  full  of  flowers.  I  advance  but  a  pace  or 
two  and  again  plenty  is  around  me.  I  pass  at  ease 
on  a  sea  of  beauty,  I  sail  whither  the  winds  take 
me — there,  there  is  no  danger.  So  much  for  my 
own  personal  wish;  but  the  entire  Theatre  of  the 
world  is  not  represented  in  me,  nor  in  a  hundred 
artists  or  actors,  but  in  something  far  different. 
Therefore  what  my  personal  aim  may  be  is  of  very 
little  importance.  Yet  the  aim  of  the  Theatre  as 
a  whole  is  to  restore  its  art,  and  it  should  commence 
by  banishing  from  the  Theatre  this  idea  of  im- 
personation, this  idea  of  reproducing  Nature ;  for, 
while  impersonation  is  in  the  Theatre,  the  Theatre 
can  never  become  free.  The  performers  should 
train  under  the  influence  of  an  earlier  teaching  (if 
the  very  earliest  and  finest  principles  are  too  stern 
to  commence  with),  and  they  will  have  to  avoid 
that  frantic  desire  to  put  life  into  their  work; 
for  three  thousand  times  against  one  time  it  means 
the  bringing  of  excessive  gesture,  swift  mimicry, 
speech  which  bellows  and  scene  which  dazzles,  on 
to  the  stage,  in  the  wild  and  vain  belief  that  by  such 
means  vitality  can  be  conjured  there.  And  in  a 
few  instances,  to  prove  the  rule,  all  this  partially 
succeeds.  It  succeeds  partially  with  the  bubbling 
personalities  of  the  Stage.  With  them  it  is  a  case 
of  sheer  triumph  in  spite  of  the  rules,  in  the  very 

75 


THE    BUBBLING    PERSONALITY 

teeth  of  the  rules,  and  we  who  look  on  throw  our 
hats  into  the  air,  cheer,  and  cheer  again.  We 
have  to ;  we  don't  want  to  consider  or  to  question ; 
we  go  with  the  tide  through  admiration  and 
suggestion.  That  we  are  hypnotized  our  taste 
cares  not  a  rap  :  we  are  delighted  to  be  so  moved, 
and  we  literally  jump  for  joy.  The  great  person- 
ality has  triumphed  both  over  us  and  the  art. 
But  personalities  such  as  these  are  extremely  rare, 
and  if  we  wish  to  see  a  personality  assert  itself  in 
the  Theatre  and  entirely  triumph  as  an  actor  we 
must  at  the  same  time  be  quite  indifferent  about  the 
play  and  the  other  actors,  about  beauty  and  art. 

Those  who  do  not  think  with  me  in  this  whole 
matter  are  the  worshippers,  or  respectful  admirers, 
of  the  personalities  of  the  Stage.  It  is  intolerable 
to  them  that  I  should  assert  that  the  Stage  must 
be  cleared  of  all  its  actors  and  actresses  before 
it  will  again  revive.  How  could  they  agree  with 
me  ?  That  would  include  the  removal  of  their 
favourites — the  two  or  three  beings  who  transform 
the  stage  for  them  from  a  vulgar  joke  into  an  ideal 
land.  But  what  should  they  fear  ?  No  danger 
threatens  their  favourites — for  were  it  possible  to 
put  an  act  into  force  to  prohibit  all  men  and  women 
from  appearing  before  the  public  upon  the  stage  of 
a  theatre,  this  would  not  in  the  least  affect  these 
favourites — these  men  and  women  of  personality 
whom  the  playgoers  crown.  Consider  any  one  of 
these  personalities  born  at  a  period  when  the  Stage 

76 


FLA  U  BERT 


was  unknown;  would  it  in  any  way  have  lessened 
their  power  —  hindered  their  expression  ?  Not  a 
whit.  Personality  invents  the  means  and  ways 
by  which  it  shall  express  itself;  and  acting  is  but 
one  —  the  very  least  —  of  the  means  at  the  command 
of  a  great  personality,  and  these  men  and  women 
would  have  been  famous  at  any  time,  and  in  any 
calling.  But  if  there  are  many  to  whom  it  is  in- 
tolerable that  I  should  propose  to  clear  the  Stage 
of  ALL  the  actors  and  actresses  in  order  to  revive 
the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  there  are  others  to  whom 
it  seems  agreeable. 

"  The  artist,"  says  Flaubert,  "  should  be  in  his 
work  like  God  in  creation,  invisible  and  all-power- 
ful ;  he  should  be  felt  everywhere  and  seen  nowhere. 
Art  should  be  raised  above  personal  affection  and 
nervous  susceptibility.  It  is  time  to  give  it  the 
perfection  of  the  physical  sciences  by  means  of  a 
pitiless  method."  And  again,  "  I  have  always  tried 
not  to  belittle  Art  for  the  satisfaction  of  an  isolated 
personality."  He  is  thinking  mainly  of  the  art  of 
literature;  but  if  he  feels  this  so  strongly  of  the 
writer,  one  who  is  never  actually  seen,  but  merely 
stands  half  revealed  behind  his  work,  how  totally 
opposed  must  he  have  been  to  the  actual  appear- 
ance of  the  actor  —  personality  or  no  personality. 

Charles  Lamb  says  :  "  To  see  Lear  acted,  to 
see  an  old  man  tottering  about  with  a  stick,  turned 
out  of  doors  by  his  daughters  on  a  rainy  night, 
has  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  painful  and  dis- 

77 


CHARLES  LAMB— DANTE— HAZLITT 

gusting.  We  want  to  take  him  in  to  shelter,  that 
is  all  the  feeling  the  acting  of  Lear  ever  produced 
in  me.  The  contemptible  machinery  by  which 
they  mimic  the  storm  which  he  goes  in  is  not 
more  inadequate  to  represent  the  horror  of  the 
real  elements  than  any  actor  can  be  to  represent 
Lear.  They  might  more  easily  propose  to  personate 
the  Satan  of  Milton  upon  a  stage,  or  one  of  Michel- 
angelo's terrible  figures — Lear  is  essentially  im- 
possible to  be  represented  on  the  stage." 

"  Hamlet  himself  seems  hardly  capable  of  being 
acted,"  says  William  Hazlitt. 

Dante  in  La  Vita  Nuova  tells  us  that,  in  a 
dream,  Love,  in  the  figure  of  a  youth,  appeared  to 
him.  Discoursing  of  Beatrice,  Dante  is  told  by 
Love  "  to  compose  certain  things  in  rhyme,  in 
the  which  thou  shalt  set  forth  how  strong  a  master- 
ship I  have  obtained  over  thee,  through  her.  And 
so  write  these  things  that  they  shall  seem  rather 
to  be  spoken  by  a  third  person,  and  not  directly 
by  thee  to  her,  which  is  scarce  fitting."  And  again  : 
"  There  came  upon  me  a  great  desire  to  say  some- 
what in  rhyme  :  but  when  I  began  thinking  how 
I  should  say  it,  methought  that  to  speak  of  her 
were  unseemly,  unless  I  spoke  to  other  ladies  in  the 
second  person."  We  see  then  that  to  these  men  it  is 
wrong  that  the  living  person  should  advance  into 
the  frame  and  display  himself  upon  his  own  canvas. 
They  hold  it  as  "  unseemly  " — "  scarce  fitting." 

We    have    here    witnesses    against    the    whole 

f*Q 

t  O 


ELEANORA    DUSE 


business  of  the  modern  stage.  Collectively  they 
pass  the  following  sentence  :  That  it  is  bad  art 
to  make  so  personal,  so  emotional,  an  appeal  that 
the  beholder  forgets  the  thing  itself  while  swamped 
by  the  personality,  the  emotion,  of  its  maker.  And 
now  for  the  testimony  of  an  actress. 

Eleonora  Duse  has  said  :  "  To  save  the  Theatre, 
the  Theatre  must  be  destroyed,  the  actors  and 
actresses  must  all  die  of  the  plague.  They  poison 
the  air,  they  make  art  impossible."  l 

We  may  believe  her.  She  means  what  Flaubert 
and  Dante  mean,  even  if  she  words  it  differently. 
And  there  are  many  more  witnesses  to  testify  for  me, 
if  this  is  held  to  be  insufficient  evidence.  There 
are  the  people  who  never  go  to  the  theatres,  the 
millions  of  men  against  the  thousands  who  do  go. 
Then,  we  have  the  support  of  most  of  the  managers 
of  the  Theatre  of  to-day.  The  modern  theatre- 
manager  thinks  the  stage  should  have  its  plays 
gorgeously  decorated.  He  will  say  that  no  pains 
should  be  spared  to  bring  every  assistance  towards 
cheating  the  audience  into  a  sense  of  reality.  He 
will  never  cease  telling  us  how  important  all  these 
decorations  are.  He  urges  all  this  for  several 
reasons,  and  the  following  reason  is  not  the  least  : 
He  scents  a  grave  danger  in  simple  and  good  work  ; 
he  sees  that  there  is  a  body  of  people  who  are 
opposed  to  these  lavish  decorations  ;  he  knows  that 
there  has  been  a  distinct  movement  in  Europe 

1  Studies  in  Seven  Arts.  Arthur  Symons.     (Constable,  1900.) 
79 


N  A  POLEO  N 


against  this  display,  it  having  been  claimed  that 
the  great  plays  gained  when  represented  in  front 
of  the  plainest  background.  This  movement  can 
be  proved  to  be  a  powerful  one  —  it  has  spread 
from  Krakau  to  Moscow,  from  Paris  to  Rome, 
from  London  to  Berlin  and  Vienna.  The  managers 
see  this  danger  ahead  of  them;  they  see  that  if 
once  people  came  to  realize  this  fact,  if  once  the 
audience  tasted  of  the  delight  which  a  sceneless  play 
brings,  they  would  then  go  further  and  desire  the 
play  which  was  presented  without  actors  ;  and  finally 
they  would  go  on  and  on  and  on  until  they,  and 
not  the  managers,  had  positively  reformed  the  art. 
Napoleon  is  reported  to  have  said  :  "  In  life 
there  is  much  that  is  unworthy  which  in  art  should 
be  omitted  ;  much  of  doubt  and  vacillation  ;  and  all 
should  disappear  in  the  representation  of  the  hero. 
We  should  see  him  as  a  statue  in  which  the  weakness 
and  the  tremors  of  the  ftesh  are  no  longer  perceptible." 
And  not  only  Napoleon,  but  Ben  Jonson,  Lessing, 
Edmund  Scherer,  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  Lamb, 
Goethe,  George  Sand,  Coleridge,  Anatole  France, 
Ruskin,  Pater,1  and  I  suppose  all  the  intelligent  men 

1  Of  Sculpture  Pater  writes  :  "  Its  white  light,  purged  from 
the  angry,  bloodlike  stains  of  action  and  passion,  reveals,  not 
what  is  accidental  in  man,  but  the  god  in  him,  as  opposed  to 
man's  restless  movement."  Again  :  "  The  base  of  all  artistic 
genius  is  the  power  of  conceiving  humanity  in  a  new,  striking, 
rejoicing  way,  of  putting  a  happy  world  of  its  own  construction 
in  place  of  the  meaner  world  of  common  days,  of  generating 
around  itself  an  atmosphere  with  a  novel  power  of  refraction, 
selecting,  transforming,  recombining  the  images  it  transmits, 
according  to  the  choice  of  the  imaginative  intellect."  And 

80 


THE  LANTERN  BEARERS 
A  design  for  costume  and  lighting,  not  for  a  modern  theatre. 


. 


[Face page  80. 


THE   VBER-MARIONETTE 

and  women  of  Europe — one  does  not  speak  of  Asia, 
for  even  the  unintelligent  in  Asia  fail  to  comprehend 
photographs  while  understanding  art  as  a  simple 
and  clear  manifestation — have  protested  against 
this  reproduction  of  Nature,  and  with  it  photo- 
graphic and  weak  actuality.  They  have  protested 
against  all  this,  and  the  theatrical  managers  have 
argued  against  them  energetically,  and  so  we  look 
for  the  truth  to  emerge  in  due  time.  It  is  a  reason- 
able conclusion.  Do  away  with  the  real  tree,  do 
away  with  the  reality  of  delivery,  do  away  with 
the  reality  of  action,  and  you  tend  towards  the 
doing  away  with  the  actor.  This  is  what  must 
come  to  pass  in  time,  and  I  like  to  see  the 
managers  supporting  the  idea  already.  Do  away 
with  the  actor,  and  you  do  away  with  the  means 
by  which  a  debased  stage-realism  is  produced 
and  flourishes.  No  longer  would  there  be  a  living 
figure  to  confuse  us  into  connecting  actuality  and 
art ;  no  longer  a  living  figure  in  which  the  weak- 
ness and  tremors  of  the  flesh  were  perceptible. 

The  actor  must  go,and  in  his  place  comes  the  inani- 
mate figure — the  0ber-marionette  we  may  call  him, 
until  he  has  won  for  himself  a  better  name.  Much 
has  been  written  about  the  puppet,  or  marionette. 
There  are  some  excellent  volumes  upon  him,  and 
he  has  also  inspired  several  works  of  art.  To-day 

again  :  "  All  that  is  accidental,  all  that  distracts  the  simple  effect 
upon  us  of  the  supreme  types  of  humanity,  all  traces  in  them  of 
the  commonness  of  the  world,  it  gradually  purges  away." 
G  81 


THE    MARIONETTE 


in  his  least  happy  period  many  people  come  to 
regard  him  as  rather  a  superior  doll  —  and  to  think 
he  has  developed  from  the  doll.  This  is  incorrect. 
He  is  a  descendant  of  the  stone  images  of  the  old 
temples  —  he  is  to-day  a  rather  degenerate  form 
of  a  god.  Always  the  close  friend  of  children,  he 
still  knows  how  to  select  and  attract  his  devotees. 

When  any  one  designs  a  puppet  on  paper,  he 
draws  a  stiff  and  comic-looking  thing.  Such  an 
one  has  not  even  perceived  what  is  contained  in 
the  idea  which  we  now  call  the  marionette.  He 
mistakes  gravity  of  face  and  calmness  of  body 
for  blank  stupidity  and  angular  deformity.  Yet 
even  modern  puppets  are  extraordinary  things. 
The  applause  may  thunder  or  dribble,  their  hearts 
beat  no  faster,  no  slower,  their  signals  do  not  grow 
hurried  or  confused;  and,  though  drenched  in  a 
torrent  of  bouquets  and  love,  the  face  of  the  lead- 
ing lady  remains  as  solemn,  as  beautiful  and  as 
remote  as  ever.  There  is  something  more  than  a 
flash  of  genius  in  the  marionette,  and  there  is  some- 
thing in  him  more  than  the  flashiness  of  displayed 
personality.  The  marionette  appears  to  me  to  be 
the  last  echo  of  some  noble  and  beautiful  art  of  a  past 
civilization.  But  as  with  all  art  which  has  passed 
into  fat  or  vulgar  hands,  the  puppet  has  become  a 
reproach.  All  puppets  are  now  but  low  comedians. 

They  imitate  the  comedians  of  the  larger  and 
fuller  blooded  stage.  They  enter  only  to  fall  on 
their  back.  They  drink  only  to  reel,  and  make 

82 


0  EIGHT    HUNDRED    B.C.       o 

love  only  to  raise  a  laugh.  They  have  forgotten 
the  counsel  of  their  mother  the  Sphinx.  Their 
bodies  have  lost  their  grave  grace,  they  have 
become  stiff.  Their  eyes  have  lost  that  infinite 
subtlety  of  seeming  to  see;  now  they  only  stare. 
They  display  and  jingle  their  wires  and  are  cock- 
sure in  their  wooden  wisdom.  They  have  failed 
to  remember  that  their  art  should  carry  on  it  the 
same  stamp  of  reserve  that  we  see  at  times  on  the 
work  of  other  artists,  and  that  the  highest  art  is 
that  which  conceals  the  craft  and  forgets  the 
craftsman.  Am  I  mistaken,  or  is  it  not  the  old 
Greek  Traveller  of  800  B.C.  who,  describing  a  visit 
to  the  temple-theatre  in  Thebes,  tells  us  that  he 
was  won  to  their  beauty  by  their  "  noble  artifi- 
ciality "  ?  "  Coming  into  the  House  of  Visions  I 
saw  afar  off  the  fair  brown  Queen  seated  upon 
her  throne — her  tomb — for  both  it  seemed  to  me. 

1  sank   back  upon   my  couch   and  watched   her 
symbolic  movements.     With  so  much  ease  did  her 
rhythms  alter  as  with  her  movements  they  passed 
from  limb  to  limb;  with  such  a  show  of  calm  did 
she  unloose  for  us  the  thoughts  of  her  breast;  so 
gravely  and  so  beautifully  did  she  linger  on  the 
statement  of  her  sorrow,  that  with  us  it  seemed 
as  if  no  sorrow  could  harm  her;  no  distortion  of 
body  or  feature  allowed  us  to  dream  that  she  was 
conquered;  the  passion  and  the  pain  were  con- 
tinually being  caught  by  her  hands,  held  gently, 
and  viewed  calmly.     Her  arms  and  hands  seemed 

G  2  83 


ART   OF   SHOWING   AND    VEILING 

at  one  moment  like  a  thin  warm  fountain  of  water 
which  rose,  then  broke  and  fell  with  all  those  sweet 
pale  fingers  like  spray  into  her  lap.  It  would 
have  been  as  a  revelation  of  art  to  us  had  I  not 
already  seen  that  the  same  spirit  dwelt  in  the  other 
examples  of  the  art  of  these  Egyptians.  This 
4  Art  of  Showing  and  Veiling,'  as  they  call  it,  is  so 
great  a  spiritual  force  in  the  land  that  it  plays 
the  larger  part  in  their  religion.  We  may  learn 
from  it  somewhat  of  the  power  and  the  grace  of 
courage,  for  it  is  impossible  to  witness  a  perform- 
ance without  a  sense  of  physical  and  spiritual 
refreshment."  This  in  800  B.C.  And  who  knows 
whether  the  puppet  shall  not  once  again  become 
the  faithful  medium  for  the  beautiful  thoughts 
of  the  artist.  May  we  not  look  forward  with  hope 
to  that  day  which  shall  bring  back  to  us  once 
more  the  figure,  or  symbolic  creature,  made  also 
by  the  cunning  of  the  artist,  so  that  we  can  gain 
once  more  the  "  noble  artificiality  "  which  the  old 
writer  speaks  of  ?  Then  shall  we  no  longer  be 
under  the  cruel  influence  of  the  emotional  con- 
fessions of  weakness  which  are  nightly  witnessed 
by  the  people  and  which  in  their  turn  create  in  the 
beholders  the  very  weaknesses  which  are  exhibited. 
To  that  end  we  must  study  to  remake  these  images 
— no  longer  content  with  a  puppet,  we  must  create 
an  liber-marionette.  The  iiber-marionette  will 
not  compete  with  life — rather  will  it  go  beyond 
it.  Its  ideal  will  not  be  the  flesh  and  blood  but 

84 


THE     V  B  E  R-  MARIONETTE 

rather  the  body  in  trance — it  will  aim  to  clothe 
itself  with  a  death-like  beauty  while  exhaling  a 
living  spirit.  Several  times  in  the  course  of  this 
essay  has  a  word  or  two  about  Death  found  its 
way  on  to  the  paper — called  there  by  the  incessant 
clamouring  of  "  Life  !  Life  !  Life  !  "  which  the 
realists  keep  up.  And  this  might  be  easily  mis- 
taken for  an  affectation,  especially  by  those  who 
have  no  sympathy  or  delight  in  the  power  and  the 
mysterious  joyousness  which  is  in  all  passionless 
works  of  art.  If  the  famous  Rubens  and  the 
celebrated  Raphael  made  none  but  passionate 
and  exuberant  statements,  there  were  many  artists 
before  them  and  since  to  whom  moderation  in 
their  art  was  the  most  precious  of  all  their  aims, 
and  these  more  than  all  others  exhibit  the  true 
masculine  manner.  The  other  flamboyant  or 
drooping  artists  whose  works  and  names  catch  the 
eye  of  to-day  do  not  so  much  speak  like  men  as 
bawl  like  animals,  or  lisp  like  women. 

The  wise,  the  moderate  masters,  strong  because 
of  the  laws  to  which  they  swore  to  remain  ever 
faithful — their  names  unknown  for  the  most  part — 
a  fine  family — the  creators  of  the  great  and  tiny 
gods  of  the  East  and  the  West,  the  guardians 
of  those  larger  times :  these  all  bent  their 
thoughts  forward  towards  the  unknown,  searching 
for  sights  and  sounds  in  that  peaceful  and  joyous 
country,  that  they  might  raise  a  figure  of  stone 
or  sing  a  verse,  investing  it  with  that  same  peace 

85 


IN    AMERICA,    ASIA,    AFRICA 

and  joy  seen  from  afar,  so  as  to  balance  all  the 
grief  and  turmoil  here. 

In  America  we  can  picture  these  brothers  of 
that  family  of  masters,  living  in  their  superb 
ancient  cities,  colossal  cities,  which  I  ever  think 
of  as  able  to  be  moved  in  a  single  day;  cities  of 
spacious  tents  of  silk  and  canopies  of  gold  under 
which  dwelt  their  gods ;  dwellings  which  contained 
all  the  requirements  of  the  most  fastidious;  those 
moving  cities  which,  as  they  travelled  from  height 
to  plain,  over  rivers  and  down  valleys,  seemed 
like  some  vast  advancing  army  of  peace.  And 
in  each  city  not  one  or  two  men  called  "  artists  " 
whom  the  rest  of  the  city  looked  upon  as  ne'er-do- 
well  idlers,  but  many  men  chosen  by  the  community 
because  of  their  higher  powers  of  perception — 
artists.  For  that  is  what  the  title  of  artist  means  : 
one  who  perceives  more  than  his  fellows,  and  who 
records  more  than  he  has  seen.  And  not  the  least 
among  those  artists  was  the  artist  of  the  cere- 
monies, the  creator  of  the  visions,  the  minister 
whose  duty  it  was  to  celebrate  their  guiding  spirit 
—the  spirit  of  Motion. 

In  Asia,  too,  the  forgotten  masters  of  the  temples 
and  all  that  those  temples  contained  have  per- 
meated every  thought,  every  mark,  in  their  work 
with  this  sense  of  calm  motion  resembling  death — 
glorifying  and  greeting  it.  In  Africa  (which  some 
of  us  think  we  are  but  now  to  civilize)  this  spirit 
dwelt,  the  essence  of  the  perfect  civilization.  There, 

86 


LOVE     INSTEAD     OF     GUSH 

too,  dwelt  the  great  masters,  not  individuals 
obsessed  with  the  idea  of  each  asserting  his  person- 
ality as  if  it  were  a  valuable  and  mighty  thing,  but 
content  because  of  a  kind  of  holy  patience  to  move 
their  brains  and  their  fingers  only  in  that  direction 
permitted  by  the  law — in  the  service  of  the  simple 
truths. 

How  stern  the  law  was,  and  how  little  the  artist 
of  that  day  permitted  himself  to  make  an  exhibi- 
tion of  his  personal  feelings,  can  be  discovered  by 
looking  at  any  example  of  Egyptian  art.  Look 
at  any  limb  ever  carved  by  the  Egyptians,  search 
into  all  those  carved  eyes,  they  will  deny  you 
until  the  crack  of  doom.  Their  attitude  is  so 
silent  that  it  is  death-like.  Yet  tenderness  is  there, 
and  charm  is  there;  prettiness  is  even  there  side 
by  side  with  the  force ;  and  love  bathes  each  single 
work;  but  gush,  emotion,  swaggering  personality 
of  the  artist  ? — not  one  single  breath  of  it.  Fierce 
doubts  of  hope  ? — not  one  hint  of  such  a  thing. 
Strenuous  determination  ? — not  a  sign  of  it  has 
escaped  the  artist;  none  of  these  confessions — 
stupidities.  Nor  pride,  nor  fear,  nor  the  comic, 
nor  any  indication  that  the  artist's  mind  or  hand 
was  for  the  thousandth  part  of  a  moment  out  of 
the  command  of  the  laws  which  ruled  him.  How 
superb  !  This  it  is  to  be  a  great  artist ;  and  the 
amount  of  emotional  outpourings  of  to-day  and 
of  yesterday  are  no  signs  of  supreme  intelligence, 
that  is  to  say,  are  no  signs  of  supreme  art.  To 

87 


^         'COME    AS     YOU    ARE'         ^ 

Europe  came  this  spirit,  hovered  over  Greece, 
could  hardly  be  driven  out  of  Italy,  but  finally 
fled,  leaving  a  little  stream  of  tears — pearls — before 
us.  And  we,  having  crushed  most  of  them, 
munching  them  along  with  the  acorns  of  our  food, 
have  gone  farther  and  fared  worse,  and  have 
prostrated  ourselves  before  the  so-called  "  great 
masters,"  and  have  worshipped  these  dangerous 
and  flamboyant  personalities.  On  an  evil  day 
we  thought  in  our  ignorance  that  it  was  us  they 
were  sent  to  draw ;  that  it  was  our  thoughts  they 
were  sent  to  express;  that  it  was  something  to  do 
with  us  that  they  were  putting  into  their  archi- 
tecture, their  music.  And  so  it  was  we  came  to 
demand  that  we  should  be  able  to  recognize  our- 
selves in  all  that  they  put  hand  to ;  that  is  to  say, 
in  their  architecture,  in  their  sculpture,  in  their 
music,  in  their  painting,  and  in  their  poetry  we 
were  to  figure — and  we  also  reminded  them  to 
invite  us  with  the  familiar  words  :  "  Come  as  you 
are." 

The  artists  after  many  centuries  have  given  in, 
that  which  we  asked  them  for  they  have  supplied. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  when  this  ignorance 
had  driven  off  the  fair  spirit  which  once  controlled 
the  mind  and  hand  of  the  artist,  a  dark  spirit  took 
its  place;  the  happy-go-lucky  hooligan  in  the  seat 
of  the  law — that  is  to  say,  a  stupid  spirit  reigning ; 
and  everybody  began  to  shout  about  Renaissance  ! 
while  all  the  time  the  painters,  musicians,  sculptors, 
architects,  vied  one  with  the  other  to  supply  the 

88 


o    THE    HOOLIGAN    REIGNS  ^> 

demand — that  all  these  things  should  be  so  made 
that  all  people  could  recognize  them  as  having 
something  to  do  with  themselves. 

Up  sprang  portraits  with  flushed  faces,  eyes 
which  bulged,  mouths  which  leered,  fingers  itching 
to  come  out  of  their  frames,  wrists  which  exposed 
the  pulse;  all  the  colours  higgledy-piggledy;  all 
the  lines  in  hubbub,  like  the  ravings  of  lunacy. 
Form  breaks  into  panic ;  the  calm  and  cool  whisper 
of  life  in  trance  which  once  had  breathed  out  such 
an  ineffable  hope  is  heated,  fired  into  a  blaze  and 
destroyed,  and  in  its  place — realism,  the  blunt 
statement  of  life,  something  everybody  misunder- 
stands while  recognizing.  And  all  far  from  the 
purpose  of  art :  for  its  purpose  is  not  to  reflect 
the  actual  facts  of  this  life,  because  it  is  not  the 
custom  of  the  artist  to  walk  behind  things,  having 
won  it  as  his  privilege  to  walk  in  front  of  them — 
to  lead.  Rather  should  life  reflect  the  likeness 
of  the  spirit,  for  it  was  the  spirit  which  first  chose 
the  artist  to  chronicle  its  beauty.1  And  in  that 
picture,  if  the  form  be  that  of  the  living,  on  account 
of  its  beauty  and  tenderness,  the  colour  for  it  must 
be  sought  from  that  unknown  land  of  the  imagina- 
tion, and  what  is  that  but  the  land  where  dwells 
that  which  we  call  Death  ?  So  it  is  not  lightly  and 
flippantly  that  I  speak  of  puppets  and  their  power 
to  retain  the  beautiful  and  remote  expressions  in 

1  "  All  forms  are  perfect  in  the  poet's  mind  :  but  these  are 
not  abstracted  or  compounded  from  Nature ;  they  are  from 
Imagination." — WILLIAM  BLAKE. 

89 


o  PUNCH  o 

form  and  face  even  when  subjected  to  a  patter  of 
praise,  a  torrent  of  applause.  There  are  persons 
who  have  made  a  jest  of  these  puppets.  "  Puppet 
is  a  term  of  contempt,  though  there  still  re- 
main some  who  find  beauty  in  these  little  figures, 
degenerate  though  they  have  become. 

To  speak  of  a  puppet  with  most  men  and  women 
is  to  cause  them  to  giggle.  They  think  at  once 
of  the  wires ;  they  think  of  the  stiff  hands  and  the 
jerky  movements ;  they  tell  me  it  is  "  a  funny  little 
doll."  But  let  me  tell  them  a  few  things  about 
these  puppets.  Let  me  again  repeat  that  they  are 
the  descendants  of  a  great  and  noble  family  of 
Images,  images  which  were  indeed  made  "  in  the 
likeness  of  God;"  and  that  many  centuries  ago 
these  figures  had  a  rhythmical  movement  and  not 
a  jerky  one ;  had  no  need  for  wires  to  support  them, 
nor  did  they  speak  through  the  nose  of  the  hidden 
manipulator.  [Poor  Punch,  I  mean  no  slight  to 
you  !  You  stand  alone,  dignified  in  your  despair, 
as  you  look  back  across  the  centuries  with  painted 
tears  still  wet  upon  your  ancient  cheeks,  and  you 
seem  to  cry  out  appealingly  to  your  dog :  "  Sister 
Anne,  Sister  Anne,  is  nobody  coming  ?  "  And  then 
with  that  superb  bravado  of  yours,  you  turn  the 
force  of  our  laughter  (and  my  tears)  upon  yourself 
with  the  heartrending  shriek  of  "  Oh  my  nose  ! 
Oh  my  nose  !  Oh  my  nose  !  "]  Did  you  think, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  these  puppets  were 
always  little  things  of  but  a  foot  high  ? 

90 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  GANGES 

Indeed,  no  !  The  puppet  had  once  a  more  gener- 
ous form  than  yourselves. 

Do  you  think  that  he  kicked  his  feet  about  on 
a  little  platform  six  feet  square,  made  to  resemble 
a  little  old-fashioned  theatre,  so  that  his  head 
almost  touched  the  top  of  the  proscenium  ?  and 
do  you  think  that  he  always  lived  in  a  little  house 
where  the  door  and  windows  were  as  small  as  a 
doll's  house,  with  painted  window-blinds  parted 
in  the  centre,  and  where  the  flowers  of  his  little 
garden  had  courageous  petals  as  big  as  his  head  ? 
Try  and  dispel  this  idea  altogether  from  your  minds, 
and  let  me  tell  you  something  of  his  habitation. 

In  Asia  lay  his  first  kingdom.  On  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges  they  built  him  his  home,  a  vast  palace 
springing  from  column  to  column  into  the  air  and 
pouring  from  column  to  column  down  again  into 
the  water.  Surrounded  by  gardens  spread  warm 
and  rich  with  flowers  and  cooled  by  fountains; 
gardens  into  which  no  sounds  entered,  in  which 
hardly  anything  stirred.  Only  in  the  cool  and 
private  chambers  of  this  palace  the  swift  minds 
of  his  attendants  stirred  incessantly.  Something 
they  were  making  which  should  become  him, 
something  to  honour  the  spirit  which  had  given 
him  birth.  And  then,  one  day,  the  ceremony. 

In  this  ceremony  he  took  part;  a  celebration 
once  more  in  praise  of  the  Creation ;  the  old  thanks- 
giving, the  hurrah  for  existence,  and  with  it  the 
sterner  hurrah  for  the  privilege  of  the  existence 

91 


THE  THANKSGIVING   CEREMONY 

to  come,  which  is  veiled  by  the  word  Death.  And 
during  this  ceremony  there  appeared  before  the 
eyes  of  the  brown  worshippers  the  symbols  of  all 
things  on  earth  and  in  Nirvana.  The  symbol  of 
the  beautiful  tree,  the  symbol  of  the  hills,  the  sym- 
bols of  those  rich  ores  which  the  hills  contained; 
the  symbol  of  the  cloud,  of  the  wind,  and  of  all 
swift  moving  things;  the  symbol  of  the  quickest 
of  moving  things,  of  thought,  of  remembrance; 
the  symbol  of  the  animal,  the  symbol  of  Buddha 
and  of  Man — and  here  he  comes,  the  figure,  the 
puppet  at  whom  you  all  laugh  so  much.  You  laugh 
at  him  to-day  because  none  but  his  weaknesses  are 
left  to  him.  He  reflects  these  from  you ;  but  you 
would  not  have  laughed  had  you  seen  him  in  his 
prime,  in  that  age  when  he  was  called  upon  to 
be  the  symbol  of  man  in  the  great  ceremony, 
and,  stepping  forward,  was  the  beautiful  figure  of 
our  heart's  delight.  If  we  should  laugh  at  and 
insult  the  memory  of  the  puppet,  we  should  be 
laughing  at  the  fall  that  we  have  brought  about 
in  ourselves — laughing  at  the  beliefs  and  images  we 
have  broken.  A  few  centuries  later,  and  we  find 
his  home  a  little  the  worse  for  wear.  From  a 
temple,  it  has  become,  I  will  not  say  a  theatre,  but 
something  between  a  temple  and  a  theatre,  and  he 
is  losing  his  health  in  it.  Something  is  in  the  air ; 
his  doctors  tell  him  he  must  be  careful.  "  And 
what  am  I  to  fear  most  ?  "  he  asks  them.  They 
answer  him :  "  Fear  most  the  vanity  of  men."  He 
thinks :  "  But  that  is  what  I  myself  have  always 

92 


^>  THE    FA  LL  o 

taught,  that  we  who  celebrated  in  joy  this  our 
existence,  should  have  this  one  great  fear.  Is  it 
possible  that  I,  one  who  has  ever  revealed  this 
truth,  should  be  one  to  lose  sight  of  it  and  should 
myself  be  one  of  the  first  to  fall  ?  Clearly  some 
subtle  attack  is  to  be  made  on  me.  I  will  keep 
my  eyes  upon  the  heavens."  And  he  dismisses 
his  doctors  and  ponders  upon  it. 

And  now  let  me  tell  you  who  it  was  that  came 
to  disturb  the  calm  air  which  surrounded  this 
curiously  perfect  thing.  It  is  on  record  that 
somewhat  later  he  took  up  his  abode  on  the  Far 
Eastern  coast,  and  there  came  two  women  to  look 
upon  him.  And  at  the  ceremony  to  which  they 
came  he  glowed  with  such  earthly  splendour  and 
yet  such  unearthly  simplicity,  that  though  he  prove 
an  inspiration  to  the  thousand  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-eight  souls  who  participated  in  the  festival, 
an  inspiration  which  cleared  the  mind  even  as  it 
intoxicated,  yet  to  these  two  women  it  proved 
an  intoxication  only.  He  did  not  see  them,  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  heavens;  but  he  charged 
them  full  of  a  desire  too  great  to  be  quenched; 
the  desire  to  stand  as  the  direct  symbol  of  the 
divinity  in  man.  No  sooner  thought  than  done; 
and  arraying  themselves  as  best  they  could  in 
garments  ("  like  his  "  they  thought),  moving  with 
gestures  ("  like  his  "  they  said)  and  being  able  to 
cause  wonderment  in  the  minds  of  the  beholders 
("  even  as  he  does  "  they  cried),  they  built  them- 
selves a  temple  ("  like  his,"  "  like  his "),  and 

93 


GUSH    NOT    LOVE 


supplied  the  demand  of  the  vulgar,  the  whole  thing 
a  poor  parody. 

This  is  on  record.  It  is  the  first  record  in  the 
East  of  the  actor.  The  actor  springs  from  the 
foolish  vanity  of  two  women  who  were  not  strong 
enough  to  look  upon  the  symbol  of  godhead  with- 
out desiring  to  tamper  with  it;  and  the  parody 
proved  profitable.  In  fifty  or  a  hundred  years 
places  for  such  parodies  were  to  be  found  in  all 
parts  of  the  land. 

Weeds,  they  say,  grow  quickly,  and  that  wilder- 
ness of  weeds,  the  modern  theatre,  soon  sprang  up. 
The  figure  of  the  divine  puppet  attracted  fewer 
and  fewer  lovers,  and  the  women  were  quite  the 
latest  thing.  With  the  fading  of  the  puppet 
and  the  advance  of  these  women  who  exhibited 
themselves  on  the  stage  in  his  place,  came  that 
darker  spirit  which  is  called  Chaos,  and  in  its  wake 
the  triumph  of  the  riotous  personality.  Do  you  see, 
then,  what  has  made  me  love  and  learn  to  value  that 
which  to-day  we  call  the  "  puppet  "  and  to  detest 
that  which  we  call  "  life  "  in  art  ?  I  pray  earnestly 
for  the  return  of  the  image  —  the  liber-marionette 
to  the  Theatre;  and  when  he  comes  again  and  is 
but  seen,  he  will  be  loved  so  well  that  once  more 
will  it  be  possible  for  the  people  to  return  to  their 
ancient  joy  in  ceremonies  —  once  more  will  Creation 
be  celebrated  —  homage  rendered  to  existence  —  and 
divine  and  happy  intercession  made  to  Death. 

FLORENCE  :  March  190". 

94 


A  S  I  step  before  you  to  speak  about  the  Theatre 
-^LJL.  do  not  mistake  me  as  a  reformer.  I  beg  of 
you  do  not  do  that.  When  I  become  a  reformer — 
that  is  to  say,  a  surgeon  and  a  physician  in  one 
— I  shall  take  Hamlet's  advice  and  "  reform  it 
altogether,"  beginning  with  myself  and  ending 
with  the  limelight  man. 

But  to  be  a  reformer  one  must  be  in  the  position 
of  a  reformer ;  that  is  to  say,  one  must  have  at  least 
half-a-dozen  or  a  dozen  theatres  in  different  parts 
of  the  world,  so  that  the  reforms  spread  evenly. 
Two  small  progressive  theatres  in  Paris,  London 
or  Berlin  are  quite  useless  towards  improving  the 
state  of  things  in  the  Theatre,  its  state  as  an  art  and 
an  institution.  Those  who  live  in  London  or  Berlin 
know  very  little  what  is  passing  in  the  two  French 
theatres.  Those  who  live  in  Paris  and  London  have 
seldom  heard  of  the  Berlin  theatres.  And  those 
who  live  in  Berlin  and  Paris  hardly  know  that 
any  such  theatres  exist  in  England.  And  so  it  is 
that  these  gallant  little  theatres,  which  make  daily 
efforts  to  improve  the  state  of  things,  bring  about 
no  marked  nor  lasting  improvement,  because  all 
their  energy  and  occasional  good  deeds  eva- 
porate after  a  few  thousand  people  have  left  the 
theatre.  And  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  still  remains 

unknown. 

95 


NOT    A     REFORMER 


It  would  be  quite  another  matter  (and  I  should 
be  unable  to  write  as  I  do)  if  any  of  these  theatres 
had  discovered  Laws  for  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  ;  for 
these  theatres  to  be  unknown,  unheard  of,  would 
matter  but  little  to  the  men  who  are  busy  all  the 
time  searching  for  the  truths  which  are  the  basis  of 
all  things.  One  of  the  evil  tendencies  of  the  modern 
theatre  is  to  forget  this  entirely,  to  aim  at  being 
heard  of  for  a  few  days  and  months,  to  make  an 
effort  in  front  of  a  full  audience  for  two  or  three 
hundred  evenings,  and  there  an  end.  To  reform 
this  would  it  not  need  the  headlong  strength  of 
some  profoundly  stupid  giant  ? 

I  write,  then,  as  an  onlooker,  not  as  a  casual 
onlooker  nor  as  an  irritable  one,  but  more  as  one 
who  takes  a  loving  interest  in  watching  the  growth 
of  plants  in  a  beautiful  garden.  The  eye  of  such 
a  man  is  instantly  arrested  by  the  weeds.  Nothing 
seems  so  foolish  or  so  abominable  to  him  as  the 
weeds  which  absorb  the  goodness  from  the  soil, 
robbing  the  other  plants  of  that  goodness  and 
altogether  spoiling  the  beauty  of  the  garden;  and 
it  is  the  weeds,  the  evil  tendencies  of  the  modern 
theatre,  that  I  am  concerned  with  here. 

Bear  in  mind  that  when  I  speak  of  the  Theatre 
I  do  not  allude  especially  to  what  is  called  the 
English  theatre  ;  nor  do  I  mean  that  which  they  call 
the  French  theatre;  I  do  not  particularly  mean 
what  is  called  the  German  theatre,  nor  the  Italian, 

Scandinavian   nor  Russian   theatres.     All   theatres 

96 


THE     WESTERN    THEATRE 

of  all  lands  are  alike  in  all  things  except  language, 
and,  alas !  the  weeds  so  closely  resemble  each  other 
that  it  is  positively  comic. 

I  speak  then  of  the  Theatre  as  a  whole,  the 
Theatre  of  Europe  and  America,  for  I  have  seen 
none  other;  though  I  believe,  from  what  I  hear, 
that  the  Eastern  Theatre  abstains  from  offending 
the  intelligence. 

The  tendency  of  the  Western  Theatre  is  to  dis- 
regard the  vital  principles  of  the  art :  To  invent  or 
borrow  with  haste  so-called  reforms  which  may 
attract  the  public,  not  those  which  are  necessary 
to  the  health  of  the  art :  To  encourage  piracy  and 
imitation  instead  of  cultivating  natural  resource : 
To  take  the  keys  of  the  place  from  their  rightful 
keepers,  the  artists,  and  to  hand  them  over  to  the 
"  business  man  "  or  anyone. 

I  write,  as  I  say,  as  an  onlooker,  but  I  have  been 
for  over  fifteen  years  a  worker  in  the  theatre. 
This  I  say  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  not 
know,  and  who  question  my  authority  for  these 
statements. 

I  have  many  times  written  that  there  is  only  one 
way  to  obtain  unity  in  the  Art  of  the  Theatre.  I 
suppose  it  is  unnecessary  to  explain  why  unity 
should  be  there  as  in  other  great  arts;  I  suppose 
it  offends  no  one  to  admit  that  unless  unity  reigns 
''  chaos  is  come  again ;  I  suppose  this  is  quite 
clear; — ? — !  Very  well,  then.  So  far,  so  good.  And 
it  should  not  be  difficult  to  make  clear  how  this 
H  97 


o       A    LIST    OF     WORKERS        o 

unity  is  to  be  obtained.  I  have  attempted  this  in 
my  book,  The  Art  of  the  Theatre,1  and  now  I  wish 
to  make  clear  by  what  process  unity  is  lost. 

Let  me  make  a  list  (an  incomplete  one,  but  it 
will  serve)  of  the  different  workers  in  the  theatre. 
When  I  have  made  this  list  I  will  tell  you  how  many 
are  head-cooks  and  how  they  assist  in  the  spoiling 
of  the  broth. 

First  and  foremost,  there  is  the  proprietor  of  the 
theatre.  Secondly,  there  is  the  business  manager 
who  rents  the  theatre.  Thirdly,  there  is  the  stage- 
director,  sometimes  three  or  four  of  these.  There 
are  also  three  or  four  business  men.  Then  we  come 
to  the  chief  actor  and  the  chief  actress.  Then  we 
have  the  actor  and  the  actress  who  are  next  to  the 
chief;  that  is  to  say,  who  are  ready  to  step  into 
their  places  if  required.  Then  there  are  from 
twenty  to  sixty  other  actors  and  actresses.  Besides 
this,  there  is  a  gentleman  who  designs  scenes. 
Another  who  designs  costumes.  A  third  who 
devotes  his  time  to  arranging  lights.  A  fourth 
who  attends  to  the  machinery  (generally  the 
hardest  worker  in  the  theatre).  And  then  we  have 
from  twenty  to  a  hundred  under-workers,  scene- 
painters,  costume  makers,  limelight  manipulators, 
dressers,  scene-shifters,  under  machinists,  extra 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  cleaners,  programme  sellers : 
and  there  we  have  the  bunch. 

Now  look  carefully  at  this  list.     We  see  seven 

1  See  page  137. 
98 


heads  and  two  very  influential  members.  Seven 
directors  instead  of  one,  and  nine  opinions  instead 
of  one. 

Now,  then,  it  is  impossible  for  a  work  of  art  ever  to 
be  produced  where  more  than  one  brain  is  permitted 
to  direct ;  and  if  works  of  art  are  not  seen  in  the  Theatre 
this  one  reason  is  a  sufficient  one,  though  there  are 
plenty  more. 

Do  you  wish  to  know  why  there  are  seven  masters 
instead  of  one  ?  It  is  because  there  is  no  one  man 
in  the  theatre  who  is  a  master  in  himself,  that  is  to 
say,  there  is  no  one  man  capable  of  inventing  and 
rehearsing  a  play  :  capable  of  designing  and  super- 
intending the  construction  of  both  scenery  and 
costume  :  of  writing  any  necessary  music  :  of  invent- 
ing such  machinery  as  is  needed  and  the  lighting 
that  is  to  be  used. 

No  manager  of  a  theatre  has  made  these  things 
his  study ;  and  it  is  a  disgrace  to  the  Western  Theatre 
that  this  statement  can  be  made.  You  have  but 
to  ask  any  manager  in  London,  Berlin  or  Paris 
whether  he  can  invent  the  drama  which  is  to  be 
presented  in  his  theatre.  Or  ask  him  whether  he 
can  invent  and  design  the  scenes  which  are  to  be 
shown  on  his  stage.  Or  ask  him  whether  he  knows 
anything  about  historic  or  imaginative  costume; 
and  whether  he  knows  a  beautiful  colour  from  an 
ugly  one.  Whether  he  can  even  combine  lovely 
tones  and  colours  together  so  as  to  form  a  whole, 
and  whether  he  knows  anything  of  the  hand,  the 
H  2  99 


NOT    ASSISTANTS    BUT    MASTERS 

wrist,  the  arm,  the  neck,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
values  of  the  body  in  movement.  Ask  him 
whether  he  knows  how  much  light  is  sufficient  to 
fully  illumine  twenty  cubic  feet,  and  how  much 
will  over-light  twenty  cubic  feet  and  so  waste  the 
light.  Ask  him  if  he  knows  the  weight  of  wood  and 
cloth,  or  if  he  can  tell  you  how  swiftly  or  how  slowly 
a  stage  floor  is  able  to  be  raised  or  lowered.  Ask 
him  any  of  these  things,  and  he  will  blandly  tell 
you  (with  shame  be  it  spoken)  that  it  is  not  his 
business.  And  then  this  remarkable  master  of  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre  will  call  up  his  co-workers,  and, 
pointing  to  them,  he  will  say,  "  These  are  my 
assistants." 

He  is  not  speaking  the  truth.  They  are  not  his 
assistants,  they  are  his  masters.  They  lead  him 
with  a  hook  in  his  nose  like  the  great  Leviathan 
which  we  see  in  pictures  of  the  older  day  pageants. 
He  looks  mighty  terrible,  but  he  is  only  made  of 
emptiness  covered  with  paste-board.  Is  not  this 
a  fine  master  ?  Is  not  this  a  pretty  way  to  obtain 
this  same  unity,  this  one  thing  vital  to  the  art  ? 

So  then  we  have  to  turn  to  the  six  other  masters, 
each  of  whom  helps  towards  the  patchwork,  and 
see  if  they  will  help  us  to  a  reasonable  answer. 
The  regisseur,  or  stage-manager,  is  under  the  delu- 
sion that  in  truth  he  is  the  one  who  is  the  artist, 
the  inventor,  the  master,  but,  poor  fellow,  he  is 
nothing  of  the  kind,  for  no  one  is  the  master  :  each 
throwing  into  the  broth  whatever  ingredient  he 

100 


THE    REGISSEURS 


will.  All  are  petty  masters,  each  hindering  the 
other.  Many  of  the  regisseurs,  or  stage-managers, 
are  known  to  me.  I  have  worked  with  some; 
others  I  have  spoken  with;  but  all  are  under  the 
delusion  that  I  mention.  It  is  a  kind  of  delusion 
of  despair,  for  regisseurs  are  really  very  good 
workers  and  spare  themselves  no  pains  when  they 
are  in  the  theatre.  They  should  have  spared  no 
pains  to  prepare  themselves  for  their  task  before 
entering  the  theatre. 

As  our  questions  to  the  director  of  the  theatre 
met  with  such  a  lamentable  reply,  let  us  see  whether 
the  regisseur,  or  stage-manager,  will  be  able  to  give 
us  a  better  answer.  Let  us  ask  him,  let  us  ask  any 
regisseur  in  Europe  or  America,  if  he  can  imagine 
and  invent  that  which  is  to  be  presented  to  the 
audience;  that  is  to  say,  the  piece,  the  play,  the 
idea,  or  whatever  you  may  call  it.  Let  us  ask  him 
whether  he  can  design  the  scenes  and  costumes  for 
that  piece,  and  whether  he  can  superintend  their 
construction  —  that  is  to  say,  whether  he  knows  the 
secrets  of  line  and  colour  and  their  manipulation. 
Let  us  ask  him  whether  he  can  direct  without  the 
aid  of  experts  the  different  workmen  who  are 
employed  on  account  of  their  utility,  not  on 
account  of  their  imagination.  And  if  there  is  one 
such  man  in  Europe  or  America  who  can  reply 
"  Yes  "  to  all  these  questions,  he  is  the  man  to 
whom  the  control  of  the  stages  of  Europe  and 
America  should  be  offered  ;  for  such  a  man  would  be 

101 


THE     SEARCH     FOR     UNITY 

able  to  acquire  the  same  capacities  as  himself,  for 
he  would  know  what  was  necessary.  And  when 
you  have  ten  such  men  in  Europe  you  have  a  new 
Theatre.  But  there  are  not  ten,  as  you  will  find  out 
if  you  ask.  I  could  not  tell  you  the  name  of  one. 

And  so  it  is  that  unity,  as  I  have  said,  is  absent 
from  the  Art  of  the  Theatre. 

Yet  there  are  several  brains  in  the  theatre  who 
know  that  if  they  could  find  the  secret  which  would 
produce  this  unity  they  would  have  discovered  a 
very  good  deed.  In  Germany  there  are  a  few 
such  men  searching  in  the  topmost  branches  of 
the  tree.  But,  as  they  do  not  think  to  search  at 
the  roots,  their  search  leads  them  into  strange 
acts.  They  mean  very  well,  but  they  act  very 
queerly.  They  are  red-hot  in  the  pursuit,  but  they 
run  blindfold. 

The  tendency  of  these  men  is  to  borrow.  They 
borrow  from  every  conceivable  source.  They 
borrow  from  the  painters,  they  borrow  from  the 
architects,  they  even  borrow  from  their  own  fellows, 
any  idea,  so  long  as  it  is  attractive;  and  so  long 
as  the  idea  has  a  plain  enough  base  on  which  to 
build  a  little  structure  of  sense,  it  is  quickly  trans- 
ferred into  the  theatre. 

What  a  way  for  one  who  wishes  to  be  called  an 
artist  to  act !  Clever  artists  illustrating  week  after 
week  in  the  comic  papers  of  Germany  find  their 
ideas  seized  on  and  thrust  upon  the  stage  of  the 
modern  theatre.  "  Jugend  "  decorates  Shakespeare 

102 


o  THE    STUDIO    PAINTERS    o 

and  Bernard  Shaw,  and  "  Simplicissimus  "  is  useful 
for  Gorky  and  Wedekind. 

These  things  are  experimental  and  rash  innova- 
tions, dangerous  alike  to  the  art  and  to  the  public. 
Hastiness  characterizes  all  things  in  the  theatre  of 
to-day;  hasty  reforms,  hasty  preparation,  hasty 
ideas  as  hastily  carried  out.  The  directors  show 
an  eagerness  to-day  to  secure  the  studio  painters 
to  design  scenes  for  them. 

How  strange  this  is  !  Do  they  not  see  that  they 
are  inviting  into  their  theatre  that  which  in  time 
will  turn  and  rend  it  asunder,  adding  a  fresh  wound 
to  an  already  mutilated  corpse  ? 

Do  they  not  also  see  that  to  invite  the  studio 
painters  into  the  theatre  is  an  insult  to  those  scene- 
painters  whose  families  have  worked  in  the  theatre 
for  hundreds  of  years  ?  and  do  they  not  also  see  that 
the  peculiar  merit  of  the  studio  painter  is  of  no  avail 
inside  a  theatre,  and  that  to  engage  a  man  who 
paints  the  side  of  a  house  would  be  a  shrewder  act 
on  their  part  ?  One  curious  side  of  this  question 
of  the  painter  being  invited  to  co-operate  in  the 
theatre  is  that  I  am  looked  on  as  supporting  the 
tendency,  and,  in  fact,  am  pointed  out  as  an 
example  of  the  success  which  attends  the  move- 
ment, whereas  I  am  against  the  whole  thing  from 
beginning  to  end. 

If  the  painter  could  bring  any  release  for  the  art 
which  lies  so  bound,  firstly  by  convention,  secondly 
by  the  unintelligence  and  incapacity  of  those  who 

103 


THEY    BRING    NO    RELEASE 

are  supposed  to  be  its  masters  (?),  then  their  coming 
would  be  a  welcome  thing ;  but  it  is  not  release  they 
bring;  they  bring  one  more  fetter.  It  is  not  their 
fault  to  offer  their  service ;  it  is  our  fault  to  accept 
it.  We  borrow  and  we  borrow  and  we  borrow. 
We  are  already  so  much  in  debt  that  we  are  nearly 
in  despair.  And  we  are  in  such  haste.  Why,  this 
even  makes  the  borrowing  careless.  The  bad  is 
copied  as  swiftly  and  as  thoughtlessly  as  the  good. 
Any  picture,  any  design,  provided  it  is  flashy 
enough  or  eccentric  enough,  is  seized  on  by  these 
hasty  and  thoughtless  directors  and  regisseurs, 
squeezed,  and  its  juice,  bitter  or  sweet,  extracted 
from  it.  Yet  this  hurrying  and  blundering  is  not 
so  strange,  after  all,  and  any  one  who  has  lived  a 
year  in  a  theatre  can  understand  it.  Day — after- 
noon— evening — night :  these  gentlemen  of  the 
theatre  are  continually  on  the  rush.  (I  am  speaking 
of  the  modern  theatres ;  which  are  supposed  to  be 
in  the  advance.)  Rehearsing  in  the  morning,  see- 
ing people  in  the  midday,  studying  parts,  looking 
at  scenery,  play  reading,  attending  receptions,  an 
author  to  see,  a  critic  to  entertain,  an  artist  to 
catch,  incessant  quarrels  to  smooth  over,  at  least 
one  new  play  to  be  brought  out  each  month,  capital 
to  find,  building  to  superintend,  always  one  inces- 
sant hustle. 

Where,  then,  is  the  time  to  stop  and  consider 
about  the  art  of  the  thing  ?  This  may  do  very  well 
for  an  oil  business  or  a  large  grocery ;  these  things 
thrive  by  hustling  :  not  so  an  art.  In  this  haste  all 

104 


JULIUS    CAESAR 

ACT  III.  SCENE  IL 

THE  FORUM. 

Here  we  see  Mark  Antony  addressing  half  Rome.  A  hundred 
thousand  citizens  are  seen  at  the  back;  Mark  Antony  leans  towards 
them  and  away  from  us,  and  you  hear  his  shrill,  high  voice.  In  the 
front,  nearest  us,  there  is  silence.  There  the  conspirators  wait. 

There  is  no  example  of  Roman  architecture  here,  for  Shake- 
speare never  insists  on  accuracy  of  detail.  Besides,  who  knows  now 
what  the  Forum  looked  like,  so  why  attempt  to  be  accurate  about 
the  Past  when  to  be  so  is  impossible  ? 

All  I  felt  was  the  crowd,  and  the  two  parties.  I  had  to  bring  all 
these  in  and  divide  them  so  that  we  should  feel  the  divisions  clearly. 
I  put  the  crowd  farthest  off  because,  although  a  hundred  thousand 
voices  can  drown  one  voice  when  it  is  between  you  and  the  speaker, 
still,  a  hundred  thousand  voices  make  an  excellent  background  to  the 
voice  of  a  personality.  For  instance,  I  never  knew  distant  thunder, 
however  mighty  it  was,  to  interrupt  a  conversation. 

The  man  who  is  persuading  the  crowd  is  in  the  middle  distance. 

Those  against  whom  he  is  persuading  them  are  in  the  foreground. 

Then  silence  can  be  felt. 


[Face  f  age  104. 


DE  GONCOURT— HUGO— GOETHE— DUMAS 

thought  of  the  principles  or  the  beauty  of  the  art 
is  lost  sight  of  and  all  desire  to  produce  beauty 
departs. 

After  all,  we  must  admit  that  beauty  by  the  side 
of  intrigue  is  but  a  poor  sort  of  a  thing  to  follow; 
and  a  sort  of  burlesque  intrigue  is  the  goddess  of 
the  theatre  of  to-day.  Burlesque  intrigue,  that  is 
exactly  the  class  of  diplomacy  in  the  theatre,  and 
how  seriously  these  little  imitation  diplomatists  go 
about  their  work  ! 

It  is  very  curious  to  read  in  De  Goncourt's 
Memoirs  of  the  impression  the  two  brothers 
received  when  they  wished  to  honour  the  theatre 
by  bringing  their  work  on  to  its  stage.  Edmond 
de  Goncourt,  a  true  courtier  of  distinction,  sur- 
rounded by  these  burlesque  diplomatists  of  the 
theatre,  what  a  picture  he  paints  for  us  !  How 
keenly  we  feel,  when  reading  the  account  of  his 
different  interviews  with  these  gentlemen,  how 
vulgar  and  contemptible  the  situation  must  have 
been. 

It  horrifies  and  disgusts  me  to  think  that  for  ever 
and  for  ever  and  for  ever  such  men  as  De  Goncourt, 
De  Musset,  Victor  Hugo,  Dumas,  Goethe,  Browning, 
and  all  the  great  writers  and  all  the  men  of  truest 
distinction  in  the  world  should  be  put  in  such  a 
humiliating  position;  and  not  only  is  it  that  which 
disgusts  me,  but  it  is  shameful  that  it  is  ever  the 
Theatre  which  should  put  these  men  in  this  position; 
Must  the  Theatre  continually  cry  out  that  it  con- 
tains none  but  the  fifth-rate  men  ?  Must  the  mea 

105 


TWO    TENDENCIES 


of  the  theatre  continually  act  when  in  the  presence 
of  other  artists  ?  And  if  they  act,  must  they  for 
ever  continue  to  act  ignominiously,  so  that  the 
whole  world  cries  out  :  "  Behold  an  actor,  and  a 
damn  bad  actor  into  the  bargain  !  "  The  actor  has 
lately  been  priding  himself  that  he  has  raised  him- 
self from  the  old  position  when  he  was  held  as 
a  vagabond  and  a  thief.  This  is  especially  the 
case  in  England.  Would  to  goodness  that  he  had 
remained  a  vagabond  and  a  thief,  so  that  he  had 
not  lost  his  distinction  ;  for  to  become  a  gentleman 
in  name,  but  grow  vulgar  to  the  core,  is  to  be  many 
tunes  worse  than  a  vagabond  and  a  thief. 

Let  the  Theatre  drop  its  stupid  games  of  amateur 
diplomacy.  When  it  does  its  work  itself  there  will 
be  no  longer  need  for  anything  of  the  kind.  When 
it  drops  this  bad  habit  it  will  have  time  to  attend  to 
the  things  which  are  of  more  importance,  and  it  will 
have  then  the  spirit  to  look  at  things  squarely. 

But,  now,  to  return  to  the  tendency  to  invite  the 
painters  and  other  artists  to  assist  us  in  our  work, 
and  the  haste  which  characterizes  everything  we 
do.  These  two  tendencies  have  driven  the  best 
workers  out  of  the  theatre.  Century  after  century 
the  artists  of  the  theatre,  despairing  of  ever  seeing 
the  stage  awaken  from  its  state  of  drunken  lethargy, 
depart  from  the  theatre  and  go  elsewhere. 

The  result  is  that  to-day  there  are  no  more  artists 
in  the  theatre.  The  heads  of  the  theatre  are  always 
men  with  a  certain  amount  of  business  capacity; 
we  may,  in  fact,  call  them  business  men. 

106 


0  THE    BUSINESS    MAN        o 

The  business  man  employs  one  or  two  people  who 
know  what  a  tree  looks  like  as  distinguished  from 
a  cat,  and  of  course  that  is  very  useful.  And  so 
when  the  business  man  wants  a  tree  his  workman 
brings  him  one.  How  simple  !  When  he  wants  a 
forest,  say,  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  his 
man  brings  him  one.  He  does  not  paint  one,  of 
course  not !  That  would  be  risky ;  risky  and  diffi- 
cult. No,  he  has  asked  for  a  forest,  and  his  man 
brings  him  the  real  and  original  thing,  tree  by  tree. 
44  There  you  are,  Mr.  Manager,  there's  your  forest 
for  you,"  and  Mr.  Manager  replies,  44  By  Jingo,  so  it 
is !  What  a  magnificent  artist  you  are  !  "  And  then 
he  runs  out  into  the  highways  and  byways,  having 
first  put  on  his  celluloid  cuffs,  and  says  to  all  his 
relations  and  customers  :  44  Walk  up,  gentlemen  ! 
come  and  look  at  the  scene  which  I  have  prepared 
for  you  !  Have  you  ever  seen  a  scene  like  that  ? 

1  flatter  myself  that  Nature  can't  do  better."     And 
his  customers  gasp.     They  gasp  at  the  innocence 
of  the  man.     All  they  can  politely  say  to  him  is: 
44  It  is  very  realistic  "  !     And  so  through  this  crass 
innocence,  realism  reigns  in  the  theatre,  for  the 
people  are  ever  polite. 

Not  only  does  the  manager  demand  a  forest  and 
is  supplied  with  one,  but  he  says  to  his  actors : 44  Why 
don't  you  walk  about  and  talk  like  ordinary  beings  ? 
Be  natural  !  Be  natural  !  Be  natural !  "  And 
he  will  applaud  any  little  mistake  like  tripping  over 
the  carpet,  or  falling  off  a  chair,  if  it  is  an  accident, 
and  will  say :  '4  Oh  !  capital  !  capital  !  that's  most 

107 


natural !  Put  that  in  every  evening."  Anything  to 
get  a  sense  of  chance  there.  The  idea  of  make- 
believe  seems  to  him  a  preposterous  idea  when  he 
can  get  the  real  thing.  In  England  when  he  wants 
an  army  he  sends  one  of  his  assistants  to  bring  him 
half-a-dozen  men  from  the  so-and-so  regiment  and 
puts  them  into  the  armour  of  the  Barusch  period. 
He  never  thinks  of  training  all  his  men  to  appear 
military  as  soldiers  are.  He  doesn't  reason  in  that 
way  at  all,  but  keeps  on  repeating :  "  What's  the 
good  of  imitation  when  you  can  get  the  real  article?  'r 

And  what  is  the  good  if  you  want  the  real 
article?  Realism  does  want  the  real  article,  and 
art  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  realism.  There 
are  people  who  hold  that  realism  on  the  stage  is  not 
the  bringing  of  real  things  in  front  of  you.  If  it  is 
not  this,  what  is  it  ? 

Let  us  try  to  state.  Let  us  say  that  when  we 
make  a  realistic  production  we  aim  to  put  into  a 
semi-real  shape  that  which  is  already  quite  real. 
We  aim  to  invest  it  with  something  lifelike,  so  that 
it  appears  to  have  a  pulse  in  it,  flesh  and  blood,  and 
to  possess  other  actual  qualities.  And  now  one 
turns  to  the  real  thing  to  find  what  we  have  to  copy. 
We  gaze  long  at  a  face.  We  see  it  is  not  beautiful, 
that  it  is  not  strong,  that  it  is  not  healthy,  and  that 
it  is  everything  which  art  detests.  We  look  closely 
at  a  tree.  We  see  it  is  in  decay,  that  the  leaves  are 
falling,  that  it  is  half  a  skeleton.  We  look  carefully 
at  a  building,  we  are  struck  by  the  quantity  of 

108 


REALISM    IS    CARICATURE 

bricks  used  and  overcome  by  the  thought  of  the 
labour  and  pain  it  must  have  cost  to  put  all  the 
bricks  in  the  right  place.  And  so  we  find  that  to 
look  closely  at  reality  is  to  be  terrified  by  what  we 
see ;  and,  if  not  terrified,  saddened.  How  unreason- 
able it  is  to  say  that  the  artist  exists  to  copy  the 
defects  and  blemishes  of  Nature  !  How  ridiculous 
to  say  that  man  is  gifted  with  vision  in  order  to 
chronicle  faults  !  To  say  that  faults  are  beautiful 
and  defects  are  charming  is  a  platitude.  They  may 
or  may  not  be,  but  not  in  art.  Do  they,  perhaps, 
make  a  work  of  art  more  interesting  ?  I  think  not. 
One  may  say  only  that  they  are  a  trifle  comic,  and 
that  is  all.  And  so  in  time  realism  produces  and 
ends  in  the  comic — realism  is  caricature.  The 
theatre,  with  its  realism,  will  end  in  the  music- 
hall,  for  realism  cannot  go  upwards,  but  always 
tends  downwards.  Down  it  goes  until  we  reach 
the  depths.  And  then,  Anarchy  I  Ariel  is  de- 
stroyed and  Caliban  reigns. 

And  I  do  not  really  believe  there  is  very  much  to 
be  done ;  not  that  I  am  at  all  a  pessimist  in  regard 
to  the  art,  because  I  know  well  enough  that  this 
will  emerge  unaided  in  due  time;  but  there  is  not 
very  much  to  be  done  at  present  by  the  people  who 
are  now  in  power,  for  if  they  began  "  doing  things  " 
they  would  probably  only  make  matters  worse 
instead  of  better.  Affectation  would  be  added  to 
vulgarity. 

Something  may  be  done  by  the  younger  men,  but 
109 


o     WHAT    IS    BEING    DONE      ^> 

not  if  they  are  under  the  influence  of  their  elders, 
because  then  you  get  an  old  young  man.  Some- 
thing is  being  done  in  England  at  the  miniature 
Court  Theatre,  but  the  influence  of  the  author  is 
too  strong  there,  an  author  who  uses  the  theatre 
for  purposes  of  reclame.  Something  is  being  done 
in  the  Deutches  Theater  in  Berlin,  but  the  influence 
of  Jugend  and  Simplicissimus  and  Business  men 
is  too  throng  there.  Besides,  that  theatre  shows 
signs  of  the  borrowing  fever  at  a  dreadfully  high 
temperature.  Then  there  is  also  the  little  Art 
Theatre  in  Moscow;  full  of  energy,  loving  realism 
so  well  that  they  even  turn  realism  itself  into  a  joke. 
Then  there  is  Antoine's  Theatre  and  the  Theatre 
des  Arts,  the  two  solitary  efforts  of  Paris ;  but  how 
little  is  achieved  can  be  gauged  by  some  of  the  last 
productions  there. 

If  all  these  little  theatres  were  moving  forward  in 
the  same  direction,  all  of  them  having  one  common 
idea  and  following  one  code  of  laws,  then  some  little 
good  might  be  expected,  because  they  would  all  be 
in  unison  and  in  harmony;  and  the  old-fashioned 
theatre  with  its  plays  and  its  scenery  and  its  real 
actors  would  certainly  be  improved. 

To  expect  what  ought  to  happen,  to  expect  the 
managers  of  these  theatres  to  meet  in  council  and 
to  take  an  oath  of  allegiance  to  serve  no  other  Muse 
but  the  Muse  of  their  art,  no  longer  to  remain  in 
bondage  to  the  Muse  of  Literature  or  Painting,  but 
to  strike  the  first  new  note  in  honour  of  their  own 

110 


o         THE    LACK    OF    FORM         ^ 

Goddess,  this  ideal  hope  can  only  remain  a  dream, 
for  man  is  vain  and  selfish;  and  besides,  the  Laws 
of  the  Art  have  not  been  inscribed.  And  it  is 
because  of  this,  because  the  Laws  have  not  been 
inscribed,  because  neither  the  priests  nor  the  wor- 
shippers know  the  Laws,  that  all  action  is  useless  at 
present.  The  Laws  must  be  discovered  and 
recorded.  Not  what  each  of  us  personally  takes  to 
be  the  law,  but  what  it  actually  is.  We  can  come 
to  no  disappointment  by  finding  out.  If  all  of  us 
fail  to  find  the  thing  and  one  comes  along  who  makes 
it  clear,  who  will  there  be  to  deny  him  ?  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  no  one  wants  to  find  the  law  now- 
adays, but  everyone  wants  to  force  his  own  ideas, 
trumpery  or  the  reverse,  upon  the  rest,  or  to  make 
money.  A  great  vanity  and  a  petty  selfishness  tie 
our  tongues  and  our  brains. 

What  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  (or  rather  we  must 
call  it  the  Work  of  the  Theatre  at  present)  lacks  is 
form.  It  spreads,  it  wanders,  it  has  no  form.  It 
is  this  which  makes  the  difference  between  the  work 
of  the  Theatre  and  the  fine  arts.  To  say  that  it 
lacks  form  is  to  say  that  it  lacks  beauty.  In  art, 
where  there  is  no  form  there  can  be  no  beauty. 

How  then  can  it  obtain  this  form  ?  Only  by 
developing  slowly  under  the  laws.  And  these 
laws  ?  I  have  searched  for  them,  and  I  believe  I 
am  finding  some  of  them. 

1908. 

Ill 


PLAYS  AND  PLAYWRIGHTS 
PICTURES  AND  PAINTERS 
IN  THE  THEATRE  0  0 

TTTHEREVER  I  go  and  however  inteDigent  or 
V  V  unintelligent  the  people  may  be,  and  how- 
ever carefully  they  have  read  what  I  have  written 
upon  the  Theatre,  the  eternal  question  comes  back 
over  and  over  again — sometimes  aggressively  put 
to  one,  sometimes  nicely  put :  "  Do  you  want  to 
sweep  away  all  the  plays  out  of  the  theatre  ?  Do 
you  find  the  idea  of  the  poet  in  the  theatre  offen- 
sive ?  Please  say  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
extraordinary  idea  of  yours,  that  that  which  has 
been  good  for  hundreds  of  years  is  suddenly  to  be 
held  as  bad."  It  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  reply 
to  all  this,  and  as  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  let  us 
try  to  do  so. 

Of  course  to  me  the  whole  question  is  so  clear 
that  it  ceases  to  be  a  question  any  longer.  It 
has  become  the  obvious  with  me  that  when  a  man 
sets  his  hand  to  a  work  he  should  not  take  by 
the  wrist  another  man's  hand  and  use  it  to 
do  the  work  in  question,  and  then  call  it  his 
work. 

The  whole  thing  is  so  obvious  to  me  that,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  reply  carefully  and  sensibly  to  those 
to  whom  it  is  not  obvious,  I  must  remove  myself 
from  the  picture  before  me,  and  see  every  line  in 
the  pictures  which  the  others  see.  And  if  I  try  to 

112 


"  HUNGER.11    A  DRAMA 
SCENE  I. — THE  SERVANTS. 

/  Juive  another  design  for  this  Drama  in  another  place  in  this 
book,  and  have  written  there  all  that  is  necessary  concerning  it. 
(See  illustration  facing  page  2 


[Face  page  112. 


A    FRONT    ROW   IN    A    LONDON    PIT 

do  that  I  shall  have  to  see  some  very  dull 
things,  and  discuss  some  very  dull  points,  which 
are  obvious  to  most  of  us  ;  but  if  the  question 
has  to  be  gone  into  at  all  perhaps  this  is 
inevitable. 

I  have  a  horrible  dread  of  proving  people  to  be 
wrong,  especially  the  man  who  takes  the  arts 
easily.  I  have  more  than  a  large  appreciation  of 
his  good  sense.  Besides,  I  do  not  want  to  prove 
that  the  man  who  goes  to  the  pit  to  see  Richard 
the  Third  is  wrong  for  going  there,  no  matter  what 
his  reason  is. 

Let  us  take  the  whole  front  row  of  the  London 
pit,  consisting  of  twenty  people. 

Ask  them  the  reason  why  they  have  come  to  the 
theatre.  Five  reply,  "  I  come  to  see  Mr.  -  —  act." 
Three  reply,  "  It  is  such  a  great  play,  I  like  to  hear 
it  so  much."  Two  giggle  and  reply,  "  We  don't 
know  why  we  come,  but  we  think  it  is  such  fun." 
Two  are  there  from  a  sense  of  duty  both  to  the  actors 
of  the  play  and  to  the  audience;  and  the  other 
eight  will  give  us  several  elaborate  and  conflicting 
reasons  for  their  presence. 

One  will  say,  that  it  is  the  extraordinary  sense 
of  the  impossible,  the  grim  absurdity  of  the 
whole  thing,  which  fascinates  him.  (Excellent 
judge  !) 

The  second  will  tell  you  that,  after  having  spent 
the  day  among  dull  and  matter-of-fact  people,  it  is 
quite  interesting  to  find  a  body  of  people  who  will 
I  113 


o         THE    CRITICAL    MAN         o 

sit  still  while  actors  and  scenery  are  pretending  on 
the  stage. 

Then  there  is  the  third,  the  critical  man  ;  one 
who  having  read  how  Edmund  Kean  illuminated 
Shakespeare  by  sudden  flashes  of  genius,  and  that 
the  Kemble  family  were  of  the  "  classical  "  school, 
and  that  Charles  Fechter  was  a  romantic  actor; 
and  having  read  a  history  of  the  stage  which  skips 
over  the  first  couple  of  thousand  years  in  two  pages 
and  only  begins  to  go  into  detail  when  it  comes  to 
the  Shakespearean  era — this  man  will  be  there, 
because  somehow  he  feels  that  the  thing  would  be 
incomplete  without  him ;  he  is  one  of  the  men  who 
know — has  he  not  read  all  about  it  ? 

Then  next  to  him  is  sitting  a  young  lady, 
who,  with  the  intelligence  which  is  natural  in  her 
sex,  is  ready  to  see  all  that  is  there  and  more  (or 
less)  if  required ;  and  yet  indeed  she  leans  towards 
the  "  more  "  and  is  ever  the  champion  of  the 
"  more  "  when  she  finds  it. 

Next  to  her  sits  the  grumbler,  one  who  goes  to 
a  theatre  because  he  must,  and  who,  I  believe,  is 
always  the  one  who  is  most  deeply  moved  by  what 
he  sees.  Yet  when  the  curtain  is  once  down  he 
will  tell  you  that  was  not  the  way  to  do  it  at  all. 
"  Why,"  he  says,  "  the  actors  are  so  many  sticks ; 
nothing  real  about  them."  He  draws  our  attention 
to  the  flapping  scenery  and  grumbles  about  the 
incidental  music  which  he  says  spoils  the  effect; 
and  he  detests  all  those  flashing  lights,  which  he 

114 


THE    GRUMBLER 


says  spoil  the  illusion.  But  what  illusion  is 
destroyed  he  is  totally  unable  to  define.  The  rest 
of  the  row  say  that  it  is  very  nice  indeed,  and  they 
all  applaud  heartily,  while  he  continues  to  grunt 
and  mumble,  and  keeps  on  repeating  that  "  that 
isn't  the  way  to  do  it." 

And  so  we  see  that  very  nearly  each  single  man 
or  woman  is  come  there  for  a  different  purpose, 
sees  the  thing  in  a  different  light,  and  composes 
what  we  can  term  an  "  audience  ;  "  that  is  to  say, 
a  single  idea  —  that  audience  which  the  actor  always 
looks  on  as  one  man,  and  which  we  must  accept  as 
the  "  ideal  spectator." 

One  thing  is  irrefutable.  They  cannot  keep 
away  from  the  theatre.  And  another  thing  which 
we  must  admit  is  this  :  that  out  of  the  twenty, 
fifteen  have  come  to  see  something.  I  will  even 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  entire  twenty  have  come 
to  see  something;  because  the  first  on  our  list, 
the  first  five  who  came  to  hear  Shakespeare  more 
or  less  admit  that  they  came  to  see  it  performed, 
for  had  they  wished  they  could  have  joined  the 
many  thousands  who  sit  at  home  and  read  it 
silently,  and  in  this  way  hear  it  in  their  mind's 
ear  with  all  its  amazing  and  wonderful  accom- 
paniment; or  joined  those  who  read  it  together 
in  societies. 

So  we  can  say  somewhat  surely  that  all  have 
come  to  see  the  play.  This  desire  is  as  fierce  as 
any  in  the  nature  of  man.  Only  when  seeing  does 
12  115 


MACBETH 


a  man  thoroughly  believe.  There  are  innumerable 
proofs  of  this,  and  many  will  occur  to  you  at  this 
moment  without  my  mentioning  them.  So  now, 
it  is  reasonable  to  ask  that  that  which  the  people 
desire,  and  go  to  the  theatre  to  find,  should  be  given 
to  them. 

They  go  to  see  something  ;  they  should  be  shown 
it.  Only  by  showing  them  will  they  be  satisfied. 
Therefore  I  hold  that  properly  to  satisfy  their  eye, 
and  through  that  their  being,  we  should  not  con- 
fuse them  or  confuse  their  sense  of  sight,  which  is 
most  delicate,  by  pounding  at  the  same  time  at 
their  ears  with  music  or  with  words,  nor  by  attack- 
ing their  minds  with  problems  and  shaking  their 
bodies  with  passions. 

Let  us  take  something  as  an  example  of  what 
I  mean  :  that  part  in  the  play  of  Macbeth  where 
he  prepares  to  nerve  himself  to  rob  King  Duncan 
of  his  life.  He  is  roaming  about  in  and  out  of  the 
dark  corridors  of  his  castle.  Behind  him,  like  his 
shadow,  a  servant  moves,  they  pass  and  repass  a 
window,  and  I  think  I  see  him  gazing  out  a  long 
time  towards  the  heath.  He  continues  his  prowling, 
and  then  rests  upon  a  stone  bench.  The  servant, 
holding  a  trembling  light,  looks  at  him,  and  he 
looks  back  again.  Once  more  he  begins  to  pace 
the  corridor;  he  is  afraid  to  be  left  alone.  He 
thinks  of  his  wife,  then  becomes  more  afraid  of 
being  left  quite  alone.  ..."  Go,  bid  thy  mistress, 
when  my  drink  is  ready,  She  strike  upon  the  bell." 

116 


HIS     VISION 


The  servant  departs.  He  continues  to  roam  up 
and  down.  In  his  agitation  the  figure  of  his  wife 
takes  the  place  of  his  servant.  He  feels  particu- 
larly fine;  he  has  an  audience;  he  seems  to  take 
courage  and  his  desire  warms  in  him.  He  will  do 
it.  The  servant  returns,  startling  him  for  an  in- 
stant. "  Get  thee  to  bed."  He  watches  the  flame 
of  the  torch  as  it  dwindles  and  dwindles,  down  the 
steps  leading  to  the  basement;  a  flame  at  first,  it 
now  became  a  streak  —  a  streak. 


"  Is  this  a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me, 
The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?    Come,  let  me  clutch  thee  : 
T  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 
Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind  ;  a  false  creation 
Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain  ? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  that  which  now  I  draw. 
Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going, 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 
Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest.     I  see  thee  still ; 
And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon  gouts  of  blood 
Which  was  not  so  before. — There's  no  such  thing. 
It  is  the  bloody  business,  which  informs 
Thus  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep  ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings  ;  and  wither'd  murder, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 

Moves  like  a  ghost Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
The  very  stones  prate  on  my  whereabout, 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it. — Whiles  I  threat  he  lives  : 
117 


ONE  APPEAL  RATHER  THAN  MANY 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

(A  bell  rings. ) 

I  go,  and  it  is  done  ;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell. 

Now  for  what  I  mean.  This  same  idea,  these 
same  figures,  these  same  visions,  can  be  better 
brought  before  the  eye 'and  so  into  the  soul  of  the 
audience  if  the  artist  concentrates  on  that  which 
appeals  to  the  eye,  than  if  that  which  appeals  to 
the  brain,  and  that  which  appeals  to  the  ear,  is 
making  simultaneous  confusion. 

It  is  difficult  to  read  this  one  speech  of  Macbeth 
slowly,  when  other  sounds  and  sights  are  exter- 
minated and  we  are  quiet  in  our  rooms,  and  get 
the  full  value  of  what  Shakespeare  has  put  there. 
We  can  read  the  speech  three,  four  or  five  times, 
and  then  only  is  some  of  its  worth  caught  by  us. 
And  having  read  this  speech  three,  four,  five  times 
let  anyone  continue  to  read  the  entire  play,  and  he 
will  be  as  fatigued  as  though  he  had  walked  twenty 
miles.  But  he  will  have  felt  some  of  that  which 
Shakespeare  intended  him  to  feel,  though  by  no 
means  all.  That  which  he  feels  we  shall  not  feel 
when  we  go  to  see  the  play  performed  in  the 
theatres. 

When  we  read  those  lines  we  are  not  cramped 
within  three  walls.  We  wander  up  to  the  top  of 
the  castle  with  Macbeth,  we  gaze  across  the  rooky 
woods  and  across  the  hills;  we  can  descend  with 
him  into  the  cellars,  we  may  pass  out  and  among 

118 


MACBETH 
ACT  V.  SCENE  V. 

Macbeth.     To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  lo-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle. ! 
Life's  but  a  walking  shadow  ;  a  poor  player, 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
Ar,id  then  is  heard  no  more  :  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing. 


[face  page  118. 


o      READING    THE    LINES       o 

the  bushes  which  bank  themselves  at  the  foot  of 
the  damp  castle  of  Glamis.  And  if  we  only  went 
50  far  with  Shakespeare  I  should  not  have  reason 
to  object  to  the  cramping  in  between  three  walls 
which  we  are  subjected  to  in  the  theatre;  for  we 
should  not  be  great  losers.  But  when  we  read,  we 
ride  with  Shakespeare  upon  the  sightless  couriers 
of  the  air.  Pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 
hangs  in  the  air  before  us;  we  see  the  terrify- 
ing figure  of  "  wither'd  murder "  with  Tarquin's 
ravishing  strides  passing  before  us;  it  seems 
to  prowl  round  the  room,  the  entire  time  we 
are  reading.  We  hear  the  bell  which  strikes  and 
rings  the  knell  at  the  death  of  Duncan.  As  we  sit 
in  our  room  reading,  the  bell  time  after  time  booms 
out  in  the  distance.  Later,  "  to-morrow  and  to- 
morrow and  to-morrow,  creeps  in  this  petty  pace 
from  day  to  day."  Round  our  room,  outside  the 
window,  above  us  in  the  room  over  our  head, 
creeps  continually  the  to-morrow  and  to-morrow; 
and  so,  losing  all  this  in  the  theatre,  we  are  great 
losers. 

It  is  not  people  and  things,  but  ideas  which  so 
surround  and  possess  us  as  we  sit  and  read.  And 
when  art  is  so  great  and  so  perfect  that  it  can  bring 
us  on  the  mere  reading  such  priceless  magical 
things,  it  is  little  short  of  sacrilege  to  destroy  that 
which  produces  those  ideas  by  confusing  us  and 
our  other  senses  by  appealing  to  those  other  senses 
at  the  same  time. 

119 


IDEAS,    NOT    THINGS,    POSSESS     US 

How  obvious  this  all  should  be.  And  so,  al- 
though it  is  absurd  to  talk  hopefully  of  the  possi- 
bility that  in  a  short  time  these  plays  may  not  be 
put  on  the  stage,  I  would  have  them  there  but 
seldom,  for  the  reason  I  have  suggested,  that  on 
the  stage  we  lose  them. 

And  there  is  another  reason  why  I  would  not 
have  them  there,  and  it  is  this  :  the  same  idea,  the 
same  impression — the  same  beauty  and  philosophy, 
if  you  wish — can  be  put  before  the  eyes  of  an 
audience  without  at  the  same  time  confusing  their 
ideas  through  an  appeal  to  their  other  senses. 

A  man  (we  may  call  him  Macbeth,  though  it 
does  not  matter  what  his  name  is)  may  be  seen 
passing  through  all  these  doubts  and  fears — a 
figure  in  action;  and  round  him  other  figures  in 
action ;  and  though  we  may  not  receive  the  superb 
impression  which  a  master  (which  Shakespeare) 
gives  us,  we  shall  through  our  eyes  receive  a  clearer 
impression  than  if  the  other  senses  were  called 
upon  at  the  same  time  to  "  assist,"  for,  instead 
of  assisting,  they  would  confuse,  as  they  ever  do. 

Suppose  we  look  at  a  picture  by  Signorelli,  the 
famous  one  of  the  Berlin  Gallery.  I  fail  utterly  to 
believe  that  a  string  quartett  playing  hard  at  the 
same  time  would  assist  our  eyes ;  or  that  some  one 
reciting  to  us  simultaneously  the  "  Birth  of  Pan  " 
would  bring  out  the  qualities  in  the  picture.  It 
would  only  confuse. 

Supposing  we  are  listening  to  the  Pastoral  Sym- 
120 


THE    INTRUDERS 


phony  by  Beethoven.  I  do  not  believe  that  a 
panorama  of  hay-makers  making  hay,  or  a 
pleasant  voice  reading  to  us  from  Spenser's 
Shepheards  Calendar  would  add  in  any  way  to 
the  understanding  or  the  enjoyment  of  those 
qualities  which  are  in  the  Symphony.  It  would 
only  confuse. 

Has  it  ever  been  tried  ?  No,  indeed  !  The 
musicians  have  protected  their  garden  well.  The 
painters  have  protected  theirs  well.  The  theatre 
men  have  left  their  vineyard,  and  it  has  been  an- 
nexed by  any  one  who  wished  to  make  use  of  it. 
The  playwrights  made  use  of  it  once  :  Shakespeare, 
Moliere  and  the  rest.  Then  Wagner  took  a  fancy 
to  the  vineyard.  Until  to-day  we  find  that  the 
painter  is  actually  making  eyes  at  the  little  place  ; 
the  painter,  the  man  who  has  been  given  innumer- 
able myriads  of  acres,  a  little  patch  of  which  he  had 
cultivated  till  now  so  exquisitely.  But  now  both 
painter  and  musician,  as  well  as  the  writer,  have 
grown  discontented,  each  with  his  vast  possessions  ; 
and  so  the  annexing  goes  on. 

And  I  am  here  to  tell  of  this,  and  I  claim  the 
Theatre  for  those  born  in  the  Theatre,  and  we 
will  have  it  !  To-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  in  a 
hundred  years,  but  we  will  have  it!  So  you  see 
I  do  not  wish  to  remove  the  plays  from  the  Stage 
from  any  affectations,  but  first  because  I  hold  that 
the  plays  are  spoiled  in  the  theatre,  and  secondly 
I  hold  that  the  plays  and  the  playwrights  are 

121 


0  A     WRONG    STATEMENT     o 

spoiling  us,  that  is  to  say  are  robbing  us  of  our 
self-reliance  and  our  vitality. 

In  Germany  and  in  England,  even  in  Holland, 
where  they  are  at  times  particularly  intelligent, 
they  follow  up  their  statement  that  I  wish  unreason- 
ably to  drive  out  the  plays  and  the  playwrights 
from  the  Theatre  without  reason,  by  adding  that  I 
•wish  to  introduce  the  painter  in  the  place  of  the 
author. 

What  leads  them  to  surmise  this  is,  that  I  happen 
to  have  made  very  many  stage  designs  on  paper. 
In  my  time  I  have  produced  many  pieces  on  the 
stage,  and  in  most  cases  when  doing  so  I  have  not 
previously  produced  designs  on  paper;  and  if  I 
possessed  a  theatre  of  my  own  I  should  not  convey 
on  to  the  paper  the  designs  which  are  in  my  mind, 
but  I  should  place  them  directly  on  to  the  stage. 

But  as  I  have  not  yet  this  theatre  of  my  own,  and 
as  my  mind  leaves  me  no  rest  until  these  designs 
and  ideas  are  put  into  one  form  or  another,  I 
have  been  forced  to  make  studies  of  these  ideas 
with  the  limited  means  at  my  disposal.  And  so 

1  am  judged  by  what  is  seen  on  paper  and  am 
acclaimed   as  Maler  (painter)  ;  and  instantly  the 
thoughtless  scream  out :  "  Ha,  ha  !  we  have  un- 
earthed this  terrible  conspiracy;    this  man  is  only 
arguing  from  a  little  standpoint.     He  only  wants 
to  oust  our  plays  from  the  stage  so  that  his  pictures 
may  come  there  instead." 

But,  gentlemen,  I  assure  you,  you  have  made 
122 


A    MISTAKE 


another  mistake.  A  mistake  very  easy  to  make 
and  very  difficult  to  avoid  making,  because  you 
naturally  say  to  yourselves  :  "  If  he  is  not  a  painter, 
what  is  he  ?  He  can't  be  a  stage-manager,  because 
a  stage-manager  first  demands  a  playwright,  and 
this  man  does  not  demand  a  playwright."  I  see 
your  difficulty  perfectly  well.  How  can  you  under- 
stand that  which  has  not  been  ?  how  can  you  believe 
in  that  which  you  have  not  seen  ?  Oh,  for  a  few 
such  men,  who,  seeing  with  the  mind's  eye  things 
which  are  visionary,  believe  in  the  heart  of  their 
minds  that  which  they  see  !  Let  me  repeat  again 
that  it  is  not  only  the  writer  whose  work  is  useless 
in  the  theatre.  It  is  the  musician's  work  which  is 
useless  there,  and  it  is  the  painter's  work  which 
is  useless  there.  All  three  are  utterly  useless.  Let 
them  keep  to  their  preserves,  let  them  keep  to  their 
kingdoms,  and  let  those  of  the  theatre  return  to 
theirs.  Only  when  these  last  are  once  more  re- 
united there  shall  spring  so  great  an  art,  and  one 
so  universally  beloved,  that  I  prophesy  that  a  new 
religion  will  be  found  contained  in  it.  That 
religion  will  preach  no  more,  but  it  will  reveal.  It 
will  not  show  us  the  definite  images  which  the 
sculptor  and  the  painter  show.  It  will  unveil 
thought  to  our  eyes,  silently  —  by  movements  —  in 
visions. 

So  you  see  now  —  I  hope  you  see  —  that  the 
Theatre  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  painter,  or 
painting,  just  as  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 

123 


A    HARMLESS    PROPOSITION 

playwright  and  literature.  You  also  see  that  my 
proposition  is  a  very  harmless  one — some  of  you 
will  say  a  very  foolish  one — this  of  restoring  our 
ancient  and  honourable  art.  Very  harmless,  because 
you  see  that  I  am  entirely  free  from  antagonism 
towards  the  poets  or  the  dramatists;  and  what 
feeling  I  have  about  the  matter  is  so  slight  that  it 
will  influence  the  modern  theatre  but  little.  The 
modern  theatre  will  retain  its  place  and  will  go  on 
being  the  modern  theatre  until  the  painter  shows 
a  little  more  fight,  and  then  it  will  become  the 
more  modern  theatre,  and  then  some  other  artist — 
perhaps  the  architect — will  have  his  turn ;  and  then 
the  two  will  fight  it  out,  it  will  be  a  beautiful  little 
tussle,  and  we,  the  men  of  the  Theatre,  that  is 
to  say  the  third  dog,  will  run  off  with  the  bone. 
Eccola  ! 

1908. 


124 


PEER  GYNT 

Design  for  costume. 


[Face  page  124. 


THE  THEATEE  IN  RUSSIA, 
GERMANY    AND   ENGLAND 

TWO     LETTERS    TO    JOHN     SEMAR 


MY  DEAR  SEMAR, 
On  leaving  Florence  you  asked  me  to 
send  you  some  news  of  the  theatres  that  I  should 
see  in  Germany,  England  and  Russia,  and  I  had 
no  sooner  arrived  at  Munich  than  I  wanted  to 
send  you  news  enough  to  fill  three  numbers  of  The 
Mask. 

On  getting  as  far  as  Amsterdam  I  wanted  to 
send  you  more  news,  and  now  that  I  am  in  England 
I  see  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  delay  no 
longer. 

To  write  to  you  about  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  I 
don't  intend,  because  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  posi- 
tively does  not  exist,  but  one  can  write  about  the 
activity  and  inactivity  of  the  Theatre,  and  if  you 
ask  me  where  the  Theatre  is  most  active,  I  reply 
it  is  in  Germany.  The  German  activity  is  not  only 
impulsive  but  systematic,  and  this  combination  is 
going  to  bring  the  German  Theatre  in  twenty  years 
to  the  foremost  position  in  Europe.  I  judge  by 
what  I  see  and  not  by  what  I  hear,  and  this  is  what 
I  have  seen  in  Munich. 

I  have  seen  princes  lending  their  name  and  giving 
125 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

their  money  to  the  furtherance  of  the  Theatre.  I 
have  seen  a  new  building  which  has  been  erected 
in  Munich  by  the  architect,  Professor  Littmann. 
I  have  been  over  this  theatre,  and  I  can  assure  you 
that  it  is  first  class,  that  it  is  not  a  foolish  affair 
with  several  balconies  one  over  the  other,  with  un- 
necessary gilt  or  marble  columns,  with  unnecessary 
draperies  of  plush  or  silk,  or  with  some  vast  chan- 
delier, or  with  the  ordinary  orchestra  boxes  and  the 
ordinary  stage.  It  is  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  in 
every  way,  and  yet  you  see  princes  support  it, 
without  calling  it  eccentric,  and,  what  is  more,  the 
people  support  it.  I  myself  tried  to  obtain  a  seat 
for  the  evening's  performance,  and  although  it  was 
at  the  end  of  the  season,  it  was  impossible  to  do  so. 
Through  the  courtesy  of  Professor  Littrnann  I  was 
able  to  go  on  to  the  stage  during  the  day,  and  into 
the  auditorium,  and  I  was  shown  the  scenic  devices 
and  those  for  lighting. 

They  were  unlike  others  that  I  have  seen.  The 
question  is  not  whether  they  were  good  or  whether 
they  were  bad,  the  only  thing  that  I  shall  draw 
your  attention  to  at  all  is,  that  although  they  are 
entirely  new,  entirely  original,  they  are  receiving 
support,  and  not  a  sort  of  timid  support,  but  the 
whole-hearted  support  of  the  city  of  Munich ;  then  I 
arrive  in  England  to  find  not  one  city  giving  any 
support  from  its  heart  to  any  original  idea  which 
may  be  in  the  heads  of  the  younger  generation  in 
England,  and  this  is  nothing  short  of  disgraceful. 

126 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

In  England  we  have,  I  suppose,  as  much  intelligence, 
as  much  taste,  and  perhaps  as  much  genius,  as  in 
other  lands.  Beauty,  my  dear  Semar,  the  beauty 
of  England  is  extraordinary,  the  beauty  of  its 
people  is  amazing,  but  its  energy  seems  a  little  bit 
at  rest. 

I  fully  believe  that  all  the  artists  are  playing  golf 
or  shooting  pheasants.  I  can  imagine  that  they 
say  to  themselves  they  would  rather  be  in  the  open 
air  than  sitting  in  a  room  to  be  insulted  by  a  lot  of 
rich  titled  dormice,  to  whom  it  has  never  occurred 
that  there  is  something  better  than  sleeping. 
Before  I  left  England,  I  thought  it  was  the  fault  of 
the  actor-managers  and  the  men  in  the  theatre. 
The  former  seemed  to  me  a  most  wicked  people; 
but  the  actor-managers  are  not  entirely  to  blame. 
It  is  the  country  that  is  to  blame,  it  is  the  rich 
gentlemen  of  England  who  are  to  blame.  What 
right  have  I  for  saying  this  ?  Why,  my  stay  in 
Germany  of  about  four  years,  my  visit  to  Russia 
and  to  Holland,  and  then  on  the  top  of  it  this  last 
stay  of  two  days  in  Munich.  One  sees  and  realizes 
these  things  in  a  flash;  one  waits,  looks,  inquires, 
wonders,  and  suddenly  it  becomes  quite  clear ;  and 
unless  the  gentlemen  of  England  wake  up,  putting 
aside  the  coat  of  the  snob  and  assuming  the  coat  of 
the  gentleman,  the  Theatre  will  not  revive — until  the 
day  when  the  English  gentleman  finds  he  has  lost 
all  his  money,  that  it  has  been  taken  by  a  foreign 
nation,  and  in  despair  he  looks  round  for  some  one 

127 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

who  can  help  him.  Then  he  will  look  to  the  artists 
and  the  workers.  I  am  not  a  Socialist.  I  love  the 
idea  of  the  swagger  lords  of  England;  but  it  no 
longer  contains  swaggering  lords  with  their  swag- 
gering ways;  they  are  all  somnambulists,  white- 
faced,  white-bearded ;  they  creep  up  and  down  the 
towns  from  Dover  to  Carlisle,  muttering  to  them- 
selves, "  Thank  God  !  father  left  me  well  off.  Now 
I  shall  have  no  more  worry  !  "  But  they  certainly 
will  have  a  great  deal  more  worry,  and  it  seems  to 
me  in  a  way  they  don't  expect.  No  !  I  am  not 
a  Socialist,  my  dear  Semar,  not  yet ! 

Now  a  word  or  two  more  about  the  Munich 
theatre — the  Munchner  Kuntsler  Theater,  which 
means  the  Artist's  Theatre  of  Munich.  To  a 
certain  section  of  English  artists,  perhaps  the  best 
section,  there  is  something  alarming,  something 
incidentally  of  what  they  would  call  an  Art-y 
theatre,  Art  with  a  capital  "A."  But  this  Art  is 
not  allowed  to  have  a  capital  "  A  "  as  well  as  any 
other  work  !  I  have  seen  War  with  a  capital 
"  W,"  and  what  is  against  Art  with  a  capital  "  A  "  ? 

I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  plays  that  they  produce, 
but  it  is  sufficient  to  speak  here  of  Faust,  which  they 
commence  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  in  order 
that  they  should  not  be  obliged  to  cut  it;  of 
Das  Wundertheater,  the  play  which  possibly  many 
people  have  not  heard  of,  by  that  little-known 
writer,  Cervantes;  or  Die  Deutschen  Kleinsttidter 
or  Twelfth  Night  ;  besides  these,  of  the  May 

128 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

Queen,  also  of  the  Little  Dance  Legend,  Herr  Peter 
Squenz,  and  other  interesting  works. 

These  productions  are  the  work  of  the  painters 
and  the  actors,  but  they  are  not  unknown  actors,  nor 
actors  who  call  themselves  independent.  They  are 
the  actors  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  that  is  to  say  they 
are  what  is  called  conventional  actors.  I  wonder, 
if  there  were  found  a  man  generous  enough  to  build 
an  Art  Theatre  in  England,  whether  the  chief 
theatres  would  lend  their  actors  ?  The  Orchestra 
in  the  little  Munich  theatre  is  not  merely  a  scratch 
one,  it  is  the  Munich  Philharmonic  Orchestra ! ! 

Now  from  such  a  beginning,  from  such  a  combina- 
tion of  actors,  musicians  and  designers  (not  to 
speak  of  the  stage-managers,  who  are  the  best  that 
can  be  obtained),  much  is  to  be  expected.  From 
such  a  combination  in  England  we  could  expect 
as  much.  Although  I  was  unable  to  see  the  per- 
formance, I  know  that  it  must  have  been  very 
excellent,  and  very  excellent  because  very  thorough. 
I  did  see  the  stage,  and  of  that  I  will  tell  you 
something. 

It  was  very  small,  but  very  complete.  Nothing 
seemed  to  have  been  left  to  chance.  Ropes, 
scenery,  lights,  seemed  to  be  all  out  of  the  way; 
everything  seemed  to  have  been,  as  it  were,  pu£ 
into  the  cupboard.  The  scenes  which  were  in  use 
were  all  hung  up,  but  I  cannot  describe  how  they 
were  hung  up,  how  well  done,  how  cleverly  done. 
The  scene  was  set  for  the  evening,  chairs  and  tables 
K  129 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

covered.  The  scenery,  although  it  had  been  in 
use  for  several  months,  showed  no  sign  of  wear 
whatever ;  even  the  corners  where  two  pieces  meet 
together  seemed  to  be  as  fresh  as  the  day  they  were 
made.  Everything  seemed  so  good,  so  well  nursed. 
I  was  enchanted  by  what  I  saw ;  it  said  this  one 
thing  to  me  so  clearly  :  it  said,  "  We  Germans  are 
not  prepared  to  say  whether  the  performance  will 
be  a  work  of  art  or  not ;  we  are  not  prepared  to  say 
whether  a  genius  is  coming  into  the  theatre  or  a 
fool ;  but  we  are  determined  that,  whetheritbe  a  fool 
or  a  genius,  he  shall  find  everything  in  perfect  order, 
and  he  shall  have  nothing  to  complain  of  as  to  our 
arrangements.  Unless  we  give  him  a  good  machine 
(not  necessarily  an  elaborate  machine)  the  work  will 
not  have  a  fair  chance." 

It  would  be  something  to  find  out  the  way  the 
Germans  set  about  such  a  task;  it  would  be  very 
interesting  to  note  whether  it  is  a  committee  which 
produces  all  this  system,  or  whether  it  is  the 
national  training,  or  whether  it  is  dependent  upon 
a  man's  personality.  I  think  it  must  be  the 
national  training.  "  Right-about  Turn  !  Quick 
March  !  Eyes  Right !  "  Something  of  this.  The 
appliances  on  the  stage  of  the  theatre  seemed  to 
me  to  have  come  from  all  parts  of  the  earth,  for 
this  is  the  German  characteristic,  to  refuse  nothing 
if  he  thinks  it  will  be  of  use. 

I  have  not  told  you  of  the  building  itself.  It 
is  beautiful  in  appearance ;  it  would  take  too  long 

130 


THE  THEATRE  IN  GERMANY  &  ENGLAND 

to  describe  its  charms,  but  here  again  its  beauty  is 
of  secondary  importance,  what  is  paramount  being 
its  practicalness  and  its  usefulness.  You  enter  the 
building,  and  straight  in  front  of  you  is  the  box 
office.  On  each  side  are  steps  leading  to  your  seats, 
the  words  indicating  the  direction  you  are  to  take 
being  made  part  of  the  decoration,  not,  as  in 
England,  a  sort  of  label  on  the  wall.  There  is 
much  more  to  be  said,  and  I  will  write  you  again 
about  this  and  other  theatres,  and  let  us  hope  that 
soon  some  united  action  will  be  taken  in  England 
in  this  matter  of  a  new  theatre.  First,  that  the 
English  gentleman  shall  understand  the  part  that 
he  is  to  play ;  then  that  the  organizer  too  shall  learn 
what  part  he  is  to  play;  then,  finally,  that  the 
artist  may  be  called  upon  to  fill  the  beautiful  and 
systematic  theatre  with  beautiful  things. 

P.S. — By  the  by,  in  going  through  the  stage-door 
of  the  theatre  I  saw  there  the  following  words, 
"  Sprechen  Streng  Verboten,"  which  means 
"  Speaking  Strictly  Forbidden."  The  first  moment 
I  thought  I  was  in  heaven.  I  thought  "  At  last 
they  have  discovered  the  Art  of  the  Theatre." 
But  no,  they  have  not  got  so  far  with  the  Art. 
Queer  !  but  the  clue  is  in  that  very  Sprechen  streng 
verboten. 

ENGLAND,  1908. 


K  2  131 


THE  THEATRE  IN  RUSSIA  &  ENGLAND 


II 

MY  DEAR  SEMAR, 

I  have  been  intending  to  write  you  about  the 
Theatre  in  England.  Perhaps  one  of  these  days 
I  may  be  inspired  to  fill  in  a  picture  post  card  with 
the  few  necessary  expressive  words,  but  to-day 
words  fail  me  to  express  all  I  feel  about  the  Theatre 
in  England. 

You  see  I've  seen  it  and  the  jolly  fellows  who 
perpetrate  it;  they  are  great  fun.  I  could  write 
you  books  about  them  and  their  genial  amiabilities. 
I  am  now  in  Russia  and  lodged  in  the  vivid  city 
of  Moscow  :  feted  by  the  actors  of  the  first  theatre 
here,  who  are  some  of  the  most  splendid  fellows  in 
the  world;  and,  besides  being  admirable  hosts,  they 
are  admirable  actors 

Soulerzitsky,  Moskwin,  Artem,  Leonidof,  Kat- 
schalof,  Wischnewski,  Luschski,  Ballif,  Adaschef ; 
Frau  Lilina,  quite  delicious ;  Frau  Knipper,  mag- 
nificent when  she  wishes ;  some  of  the  actors  in  The 
Blue  Bird  very  clever,  especially  Fraulein  Kooneu. 
Add  to  these  the  hundred  other  actors  and  actresses 
who  show  promise  of  forming  a  powerful  and  united 
dramatic  force;  and  let  me  tell  you  they  are  one  and 
all  intelligent,  enthusiastic  about  their  work,  work- 
ing continuously  new  plays  each  day,  new  ideas 
each  minute,  and  with  this  to  go  on  you  can  form 
for  yourself  whatever  impression  you  wish. 

If  such  a  company  could  be  conjured  into  exist- 
132 


THE  THEATRE  IN  RUSSIA  &  ENGLAND 

ence  in  England  Shakespeare  would  again  become 
a  force.  As  it  is  he  is  merely  a  stock-in-trade.  The 
Art  Theatre  here  (about  which  I  write)  is  alive,  is 
possessed  of  character  and  intelligence. 

Its  director,  Constantin  Stanislawsky,  has 
achieved  the  impossible  :  he  has  successfully  estab- 
lished a  non-commercial  theatre.  He  believes  in 
realism  as  a  medium  through  which  the  actor  can 
reveal  the  psychology  of  the  dramatist.  I  don't 
believe  in  it.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the 
wisdom  or  folly  of  this  theory  :  in  the  dust  jewels 
are  sometimes  found;  by  looking  downward  the 
sky  can  sometimes  be  seen. 

It  is  quite  enough  to  say  that  what  these  Russians 
do  upon  their  stage  they  do  to  perfection.  They 
waste  time,  money,  labour,  brains  and  patience 
like  emperors  :  like  true  emperors  they  do  not  think 
they  have  done  all  when  they  have  merely  spent 
a  lavish  sum  upon  decorations  and  machinery, 
although  they  do  not  omit  to  attend  to  this. 

They  give  hundreds  of  rehearsals  to  a  play,  they 
change  and  rechange  a  scene  until  it  balances  to 
their  thought :  they  rehearse  and  rehearse  and 
rehearse,  inventing  detail  upon  detail  with  con- 
summate care  and  patience  and  always  with  vivid 
intelligence — Russian  intelligence. 

Seriousness,  character,  these  two  qualities  will 
guide  the  Moscow  Art  Theatre  to  unending  success 
in  Europe  or  elsewhere.  Their  theatre  was  born 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  its  mouth  :  it  is  now  only  ten 

133 


THE  THEATRE  IN  RUSSIA  &  ENGLAND 

years  old  :  it  has  a  long  life  before  it :  when  it  comes 
of  age  it  will  be  a  firmly  established  institution. 
It  must  take  care  not  to  court  poetry,  and  must 
certainly  not  wed  her,  but  when  it  reaches  man's 
estate  it  will  awaken  to  a  new  consciousness,  spread 
wings  and  soar  by  the  two  wings  of  imagination  into 
that  vaster  and  more  open  path  which  has  no  name 
and  leads  nowhere  beyond  itself. 

And  I  am  perhaps  more  miserable  than  ever 
before  in  my  life,  because  I  realize  the  hopeless 
inactivity  of  England  and  its  stage,  the  hopeless 
vanity  and  folly  of  its  stage,  the  utter  stupidity 
of  every  one  connected  with  the  Arts  in  England, 
the  death-like  complaisancy  with  which  London 
thinks  it  is  active  and  intelligent  about  these 
matters,  the  idiocy  of  that  section  of  the  Press 
which  calls  every  courageous  attempt  to  revive  life 
and  art  "  eccentric,"  that  lack  of  comradeship  in 
London,  that  lust  for  twopence  at  all  costs.  The 
English  actors  have  no  chance;  their  system  of 
management  is  bad  :  they  get  no  chance  of  study  or 
experience,  and  dare  not  rebel  or  they  would  lose 
their  bread-and-butter;  so  they  laugh  their  life 
away  as  best  they  can,  that  is  to  say,  grimly. 

The  Russian  actors  of  the  Kiintslerisches  Theater 
at  Moscow  give  me  the  impression  that  they  experi- 
ence a  keener  intellectual  enjoyment  during  their 
performances  than  any  other  actors  in  Europe. 
All  their  performances  are  admirable,  and  whether 
they  touch  a  play  of  modern  life  and  modern  feeling 

134 


THE  THEATRE  IN  RUSSIA  &  ENGLAND 

or  a  fairy  tale,  the  touch  is  always  sure,  always 
delicate,  masterly.  Nothing  is  slipshod.  Every- 
thing is  treated  seriously — seriousness,  as  I  have 
said,  is  the  marked  quality  of  this  Russian  theatre. 
Earnestness  is  never  apparent — coming  from  Eng- 
land this  seriousness  is  possibly  more  apparent  to 
me  than  if  I  were  a  resident  here.  In  England  the 
spirit  of  mockery  is  the  same  force  as  it  was  thirty 
years  ago  when  E.  W.  Godwin  drew  attention  to  the 
fact.  The  managers  and  actors  are  afraid  to  be 
serious,  they  might  be  laughed  at,  they  most 
naturally  fear  to  be  merely  earnest.  In  England 
we  find  a  clever  actor  laughing  at  his  part  and 
himself,  and  winking  all  the  time  at  the  audience, 
horrified  least  he  may  be  taken  seriously.  To 
commit  himself  would  be  more  than  a  crime — as 
Alexandre  says,  it  would  be  a  blunder.  Here  in 
Moscow  they  risk  the  blunder  and  achieve  the  dis- 
tinction of  being  the  best  set  of  actors  upon  the 
European  stage.  Less  of  a  spontaneous  whirlwind 
than  Grasso,  their  first  actor  Stanislawsky  is  more 
intellectual. 

This  is  not  to  be  misunderstood.  You  are  not 
to  imagine  that  this  actor  is  cold  or  stilted.  A 
simpler  technique,  a  more  human  result,  would  be 
difficult  to  find.  A  master  of  psychology,  his  acting 
is  most  realistic,  yet  he  avoids  nearly  all  the  brutal- 
ities; his  performances  are  all  remarkable  for  their 
grace.  I  can  find  no  better  word. 

I  have  been  most  pleased  by  the  performance 
135 


THE  THEATRE  IN  RUSSIA  &  ENGLAND 

of  Onkel  Wanja,  although  this  company  is  able 
to  handle  any  play  admirably. 

In  The  Enemy  of  the  People  Stanislawsky  shows 
us  how  to  act  Dr.  Stockmann  without  being 
"  theatrical  "  and  without  being  comic  or  dull. 
The  audience  smile  all  the  time  that  they  are 
not  being  moved  to  tears,  but  never  does  a  coarse 
roar  go  up  such  as  we  are  used  to  in  the  English 
theatre. 

Moscow,  1908. 


136 


HAMLET 
ACT  I.  SCENE  IV. 

It  was  this  design  which  I  carried  over  to  Germany  in  1904,  when 
I  first  went  to  Weimar  at  the  invitation  of  Count  Kessler,  one  of  the 
men  who  has  done  most  for  the  German  Theatre. 

If  we  had  even  one  such  enthusiast  of  like  culture  and  practical 
energy  in  England,  the  Theatre  would  be  in  a  more  living  condition 
than  it  is  to-day. 

This  design  seems  to  have  given  pleasure  to  my  few  German 
friends — and  I  remember  that  their  pleasure  gave  me  more. 

I  am  not  particularly  fond  of  German  art,  except  for  its  early 
music,  but  I  am  never  forgetful  of  German  enthusiasm  and  of  the 
titanic  energy  displayed  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other. 

And  nowhere  was  there  more  promise  in  all  Germany  than  in 
Weimar  in  1904,  when  Count  Kessler  lent  himself  to  the  task  of 
guiding  the  taste  of  the  people  who  were  eager  to  follow  him. 

In  fact,  the  success  of  Prof.  Beinhardt  in  Berlin  is  in  a  large 
measure  due  to  the  influence  and  enthusiasm  of  Count  Kesskr. 


.•  i^ViA  %*Ai  Y  • 
:  i\»  »A\  io  ^wm'nU  o\  i«v- 

\»\  \o  teiwMtAUv)  '.ow*  b»A  ^^u  \i 


\O    «A»KVM*   3^^  ,fcVD\   «\ 
•SV9M&WI  »Ai  O\  3ifll  5N 


[Face  page  136. 


THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE 
THE  FIRST  DIALOGUE1      0 

AN    EXPERT   AND  A    PLAYGOER    ARE  CONVERSING 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

YOU  have  now  been  over  the  theatre  with  me, 
and  have  seen  its  general  construction, 
together  with  the  stage,  the  machinery  for  manipu- 
lating the  scenes,  the  apparatus  for  lighting,  and 
the  hundred  other  things,  and  have  also  heard  what 
I  have  had  to  say  of  the  theatre  as  a  machine ;  let 
us  rest  here  in  the  auditorium,  and  talk  a  while 
of  the  theatre  and  of  its  art.  Tell  me,  do  you 
know  what  is  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  ? 

PLAYGOER 

To  me  it  seems  that  Acting  is  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Is  a  part,  then,  equal  to  a  whole  ? 

PLAYGOER 

No,  of  course  not.  Do  you,  then,  mean  that  the 
play  is  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  ? 

1  This  Dialogue  was  published  for  the  first  time  in  1905.  The 
little  book  soon  went  out  of  print,  and  for  the  last  three  years 
copies  have  been  unprocurable. 

137 


e>      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

A  play  is  a  work  of  literature,  is  it  not  ?  Tell 
me,  then,  how  one  art  can  possibly  be  another  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  then,  if  you  tell  me  that  the  Art  of  the 
Theatre  is  neither  the  acting  nor  the  play,  then  I 
must  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  scenery 
and  the  dancing.  Yet  I  cannot  think  you  will  tell 
me  this  is  so. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No;  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  is  neither  acting 
nor  the  play,  it  is  not  scene  nor  dance,  but  it  con- 
sists of  all  the  elements  of  which  these  things  are 
composed  :  action,  which  is  the  very  spirit  of 
acting;  words,  which  are  the  body  of  the  play; 
line  and  colour,  which  are  the  very  heart  of  the 
scene ;  rhythm,  which  is  the  very  essence  of  dance. 

PLAYGOER 

Action,  words,  line,  colour,  rhythm  !  And  which 
of  these  is  all-important  to  the  art  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

One  is  no  more  important  than  the  other,  no 
more  than  one  colour  is  more  important  to  a 
painter  than  another,  or  one  note  more  important 
than  another  to  a  musician.  In  one  respect, 
perhaps,  action  is  the  most  valuable  part.  Action 

138 


^>      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

bears  the  same  relation  to  the  Art  of  the  Theatre 
as  drawing  does  to  painting,  and  melody  does  to 
music.  The  Art  of  the  Theatre  has  sprung  from 
action — movement — dance. 

PLAYGOER 

I  always  was  led  to  suppose  that  it  had  sprung 
from  speech,  and  that  the  poet  was  the  father  of 
the  theatre. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

This  is  the  common  belief,  but  consider  it  for  a 
moment.  The  poet's  imagination  finds  voice  in 
words,  beautifully  chosen;  he  then  either  recites 
or  sings  these  words  to  us,  and  all  is  done.  That 
poetry,  sung  or  recited,  is  for  our  ears,  and,  through 
them,  for  our  imagination.  It  will  not  help  the 
matter  if  the  poet  shall  add  gesture  to  his  recita- 
tion or  to  his  song ;  in  fact,  it  will  spoil  all. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  that  is  clear  to  me.  I  quite  understand 
that  the  addition  of  gesture  to  a  perfect  lyric  poem 
can  but  produce  an  inharmonious  result.  But 
would  you  apply  the  same  argument  to  dramatic 
poetry  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly  I  would.  Remember  I  speak  of  a 
dramatic  poem,  not  of  a  drama.  The  two  things 
are  separate  things.  A  dramatic  poem  is  to  be 

139 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

read.  A  drama  is  not  to  be  read,  but  to  be  seen 
upon  the  stage.  Therefore  gesture  is  a  necessity 
to  a  drama,  and  it  is  useless  to  a  dramatic  poem. 
It  is  absurd  to  talk  of  these  two  things,  gesture  and 
poetry,  as  having  anything  to  do  with  one  another. 
And  now,  just  as  you  must  not  confound  the  dra- 
matic poem  with  the  drama,  neither  must  you 
confound  the  dramatic  poet  with  the  dramatist. 
The  first  writes  for  the  reader,  or  listener,  the 
second  writes  for  the  audience  of  a  theatre.  Do 
you  know  who  was  the  father  of  the  dramatist  ? 

PLAYGOER 

No,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  suppose  he  was  the 
dramatic  poet. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  are  wrong.  The  father  of  the  dramatist 
was  the  dancer.  And  now  tell  me  from  what 
material  the  dramatist  made  his  first  piece  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  suppose  he  used  words  in  the  same  way  as  the 
lyric  poet. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Again  you  are  wrong,  and  that  is  what  every 
one  else  supposes  who  has  not  learnt  the  nature 
of  dramatic  art.  No;  the  dramatist  made  his 
first  piece  by  using  action,  words,  line,  colour,  and 
rhythm,  and  making  his  appeal  to  our  eyes  and 
ears  by  a  dexterous  use  of  these  five  factors. 

140 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 

And  what  is  the  difference  between  this  work 
of  the  first  dramatists  and  that  of  the  modern 
dramatists  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  first  dramatists  were  children  of  the  theatre. 
The  modern  dramatists  are  not.  The  first  dra- 
matist understood  what  the  modern  dramatist 
does  not  yet  understand.  He  knew  that  when 
he  and  his  fellows  appeared  in  front  of  them  the 
audience  would  be  more  eager  to  see  what  he 
would  do  than  to  hear  what  he  might  say.  He 
knew  that  the  eye  is  more  swiftly  and  powerfully 
appealed  to  than  any  other  sense ;  that  it  is  without 
question  the  keenest  sense  of  the  body  of  man. 
The  first  thing  which  he  encountered  on  appearing 
before  them  was  many  pairs  of  eyes,  eager  and 
hungry.  Even  the  men  and  women  sitting  so 
far  from  him  that  they  would  not  always  be  able 
to  hear  what  he  might  say,  seemed  quite  close  to 
him  by  reason  of  the  piercing  keenness  of  their 
questioning  eyes.  To  these,  and  all,  he  spoke 
either  in  poetry  or  prose,  but  always  in  action  : 
in  poetic  action  which  is  dance,  or  in  prose  action 
which  is  gesture. 

PLAYGOER 

I  am  very  interested,  go  on,  go  on. 
141 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No — rather  let  us  pull  up  and  examine  our 
ground.  I  have  said  that  the  first  dramatist  was 
the  dancer's  son,  that  is  to  say,  the  child  of  the 
theatre,  not  the  child  of  the  poet.  And  I  have  just 
said  that  the  modern  dramatic  poet  is  the  child 
of  the  poet,  and  knows  only  how  to  reach  the  ears 
of  his  listeners,  nothing  else.  And  yet  in  spite 
of  this  does  not  the  modern  audience  still  go  to 
the  theatre  as  of  old  to  see  things,  and  not  to  hear 
things  ?  Indeed,  modern  audiences  insist  on  look- 
ing and  having  their  eyes  satisfied  in  spite  of  the 
call  from  the  poet  that  they  shall  use  their  ears 
only.  And  now  do  not  misunderstand  me.  I 
am  not  saying  or  hinting  that  the  poet  is  a  bad 
writer  of  plays,  or  that  he  has  a  bad  influence 
upon  the  theatre.  I  only  wish  you  to  understand 
that  the  poet  is  not  of  the  theatre,  has  never 
come  from  the  theatre,  and  cannot  be  of  the 
theatre,  and  that  only  the  dramatist  among 
writers  has  any  birth-claim  to  the  theatre — and 
that  a  very  slight  one.  But  to  continue.  My 
point  is  this,  that  the  people  still  flock  to  see,  not 
to  hear,  plays.  But  what  does  that  prove  ? 
Only  that  the  audiences  have  not  altered.  They 
are  there  with  their  thousand  pairs  of  eyes,  just 
the  same  as  of  old.  And  this  is  all  the  more  extra- 
ordinary because  the  playwrights  and  the  plays 
have  altered.  No  longer  is  a  play  a  balance  of 

142 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     e> 

actions,  words,  dance,  and  scene,  but  it  is  either 
all  words  or  all  scene.  Shakespeare's  plays,  for 
instance,  are  a  very  different  thing  to  the  less 
modern  miracle  and  mystery  plays,  which  were 
made  entirely  for  the  theatre.  Hamlet  has  not  the 
nature  of  a  stage  representation.  Hamlet  and  the 
other  plays  of  Shakespeare  have  so  vast  and  so 
complete  a  form  when  read,  that  they  can  but 
lose  heavily  when  presented  to  us  after  having 
undergone  stage  treatment.  That  they  were  acted 
in  Shakespeare's  day  proves  nothing.  I  will  tell 
you,  on  the  other  hand,  what  at  that  period  was 
made  for  the  theatre — the  Masques — the  Pageants 
— these  were  light  and  beautiful  examples  of  the 
Art  of  the  Theatre.  Had  the  plays  been  made 
to  be  seen,  we  should  find  them  incomplete  when 
we  read  them.  Now,  no  one  will  say  that  they 
find  Hamlet  dull  or  incomplete  when  they  read 
it,  yet  there  are  many  who  will  feel  sorry  after 
witnessing  a  performance  of  the  play,  saying, 
"  No,  that  is  not  Shakespeare's  Hamlet."  When 
no  further  addition  can  be  made  so  as  to  better 
a  work  of  art,  it  can  be  spoken  of  as  "  finished  " — 
it  is  complete.  Hamlet  was  finished — was  com- 
plete— when  Shakespeare  wrote  the  last  word  of 
his  blank  verse,  and  for  us  to  add  to  it  by  gesture, 
scene,  costume,  or  dance,  is  to  hint  that  it  is 
incomplete  and  needs  these  additions. 


143 


^>      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 

Then  do  you  mean  to  say  Hamlet  should  never 
be  performed  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

To  what  purpose  would  it  be  if  I  replied  "  Yes  "  ? 
Hamlet  will  go  on  being  performed  for  some  time 
yet,  and  the  duty  of  the  interpreters  is  to  put  their 
best  work  at  its  service.  But,  as  I  have  said,  the 
theatre  must  not  forever  rely  upon  having  a  play 
to  perform,  but  must  in  time  perform  pieces  of 
its  own  art. 

PLAYGOER 

And  a  piece  for  the  theatre,  is  that,  then,  incom- 
plete when  printed  in  a  book  or  recited  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes — and  incomplete  anywhere  except  on  the 
boards  of  a  theatre.  It  must  needs  be  unsatis- 
fying, artless,  when  read  or  merely  heard,  because 
it  is  incomplete  without  its  action,  its  colour,  its 
line  and  its  rhythm  in  movement  and  in  scene. 

PLAYGOER 

This  interests  me,  but  it  dazzles  me  at  the  same 
time. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Is  that,  perhaps,  because  it  is  a  little  new  ?  Tell 
me  what  it  is  especially  that  dazzles  you. 

144 


«£>     THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      ^> 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  first  of  all,  the  fact  that  I  have  never 
stopped  to  consider  of  what  the  art  of  the  theatre 
consisted — to  many  of  us  it  is  just  an  amusement. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  to  you  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Oh,  to  me  it  has  always  been  a  fascination, 
half  amusement  and  half  intellectual  exercise. 
The  show  has  always  amused  me;  the  playing  of 
the  players  has  often  instructed  me. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

In  fact,  a  sort  of  incomplete  satisfaction.  That 
is  the  natural  result  of  seeing  and  hearing  something 
imperfect. 

PLAYGOER 

But  I  have  seen  some  few  plays  which  seemed 
to  satisfy  me. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

If  you  have  been  entirely  satisfied  by  something 
obviously  mediocre,  may  it  not  be  that  you  were 
searching  for  something  less  than  mediocre,  and 
you  found  that  which  was  just  a  little  better  than 
you  expected  ?  Some  people  go  to  the  theatre, 
nowadays,  expecting  to  be  bored.  This  is  natural, 
L  145 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

for  they  have  been  taught  to  look  for  tiresome 
things.  When  you  tell  me  you  have  been  satisfied 
at  a  modern  theatre,  you  prove  that  it  is  not  only 
the  art  which  has  degenerated,  but  that  a  propor- 
tion of  the  audience  has  degenerated  also.  But 
do  not  let  this  depress  you.  I  once  knew  a  man 
whose  life  was  so  occupied,  he  never  heard  music 
other  than  that  of  the  street  organ.  It  was  to 
him  the  ideal  of  what  music  should  be.  Still,  as 
you  know,  there  is  better  music  in  the  world — 
in  fact,  barrel-organ  music  is  very  bad  music; 
and  if  you  were  for  once  to  see  an  actual  piece  of 
theatrical  art,  you  would  never  again  tolerate 
what  is  to-day  being  thrust  upon  you  in  place  of 
theatrical  art.  The  reason  why  you  are  not  given 
a  work  of  art  on  the  stage  is  not  because  the  public 
does  not  want  it,  not  because  there  are  not  excel- 
lent craftsmen  in  the  theatre  who  could  prepare 
it  for  you,  but  because  the  theatre  lacks  the 
artist — the  artist  of  the  theatre,  mind  you,  not 
the  painter,  poet,  musician.  The  many  excellent 
craftsmen  whom  I  have  mentioned  are,  all  of  them, 
more  or  less  helpless  to  change  the  situation.  They 
are  forced  to  supply  what  the  managers  of  the 
theatre  demand,  but  they  do  so  most  willingly. 
The  advent  of  the  artist  in  the  theatre  world  will 
change  all  this.  He  will  slowly  but  surely  gather 
around  him  these  better  craftsmen  of  whom  I 
speak,  and  together  they  will  give  new  life  to  the 
art  of  the  theatre. 

146 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      ^> 

PLAYGOER 
But  for  the  others  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  others  ?  The  modern  theatre  is  full  of  these 
others,  these  untrained  and  untalented  craftsmen. 
But  I  will  say  one  thing  for  them.  I  believe  they 
are  unconscious  of  their  inability.  It  is  not 
ignorance  on  their  part,  it  is  innocence.  Yet 
if  these  same  men  once  realized  that  they  were 
craftsmen,  and  would  train  as  such — I  do  not 
speak  only  of  the  stage-carpenters,  electricians, 
wigmakers,  costumiers,  scene-painters,  and  actors 
(indeed,  these  are  in  many  ways  the  best  and  most 
willing  craftsmen) — I  speak  chiefly  of  the  stage- 
director.  If  the  stage-director  was  to  technically 
train  himself  for  his  task  of  interpreting  the  plays 
of  the  dramatist — in  time,  and  by  a  gradual  develop- 
ment he  would  again  recover  the  ground  lost  to 
the  theatre,  and  finally  would  restore  the  Art  of 
the  Theatre  to  its  home  by  means  of  his  own 
creative  genius. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  you  place  the  stage-director  before  the 
actors  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes;  the  relation  of  the  stage-director  to  the 
actor  is  precisely  the  same  as  that  of  the  conductor 
to  his  orchestra,  or  of  the  publisher  to  his  printer. 

L2  147 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

PLAYGOER 

And  you  consider  that  the  stage-director  is  a 
craftsman  and  not  an  artist  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

When  he  interprets  the  plays  of  the  dramatist 
by  means  of  his  actors,  his  scene-painters,  and  his 
other  craftsmen,  then  he  is  a  craftsman — a  master 
craftsman;  when  he  will  have  mastered  the  uses 
of  actions,  words,  line,  colour,  and  rhythm,  then 
he  may  become  an  artist.  Then  we  shall  no  longer 
need  the  assistance  of  the  playwright — for  our  art 
will  then  be  self-reliant. 

PLAYGOER 

Is  your  belief  in  a  Renaissance  of  the  art  based 
on  your  belief  in  the  Renaissance  of  the  stage 
director  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  certainly,  most  certainly.  Did  you  for 
an  instant  think  that  I  have  a  contempt  for  the 
stage-director  ?  Rather  have  I  a  contempt  for 
any  man  who  fails  in  the  whole  duty  of  the  stage- 
director. 

PLAYGOER 
What  are  his  duties  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

What  is  his  craft  ?  I  will  tell  you.  His  work 
as  interpreter  of  the  play  of  the  dramatist  is  some- 

148 


FOR    "VENICE    PRESERVED" 
A  WORD  OF   ADVICE   TO   THE  BEGINNER. 

When  some,  fine  day  you  are  asked  to  Produce  a  play,  be  prepared 
to  produce  it  yourself.  //  you  are  prepared  you  ivill  not  only 
know  how  to  act — but  also  how  to  dance — how  to  draw — how  to 
invent  scenes  and  costumes  and  "  properties.*1  If  you  are  a 
producer  you  should  be  able  at  least  to  do  all  this  thoroughly  without 
calling  in  the  assistance  of  others. 

Some  modern  "  Producers "  call  in  the  help  of  a  dancing- 
master,  a  designer  of  costumes  and  "  properties,"  another  designer 
of  scenes  .  .  .  they  are  therefore  not  practical.  They  have  ideas, 
like  every  one  else,  but  as  they  cannot  make  those  ideas  clear  to 
others  by  practical  demonstration,  the  value  of  the  idea  is  con- 
siderably cheapened  as  it  passes  from  hand  to  hand. 

The  design  here  is  for  some  "  properties  *'  used  in  "  Venice  Pre- 
served.'1 It  is  often  supposed  that  the  artist  is  a  vague  kind  of 
creature  who  never  goes  into  detail  because  he  cannot.  On  the 
contrary,  he  must  be  a  man  of  precision,  for  his  art  is  founded 
upon  that  very  quality. 

The  artist  is  the  man  who  Does  ;  the  amateur  is  the  man  who 
Does  not.  Make  certain  that  you  be  an  artist  of  the  Theatre,  by 
being  able  to  Do  all  your  own  designing,  att  your  own  arrangements 
for  dances,  fights,  limelight  effects  and  acting.  For  if  you  call 
in  others  to  do  it  for  you  t\en  you  are  but  a  glorious  amateur. 


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[Face  page  148. 


x^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

thing  like  this  :  he  takes  the  copy  of  the  play  from 
the  hands  of  the  dramatist  and  promises  faithfully 
to  interpret  it  as  indicated  in  the  text  (remember 
I  am  speaking  only  of  the  very  best  of  stage- 
directors).  He  then  reads  the  play,  and  during 
the  first  reading  the  entire  colour,  tone,  move- 
ment, and  rhythm  that  the  work  must  assume 
comes  clearly  before  him.  As  for  the  stage  direc- 
tions, descriptions  of  the  scenes,  etc.,  with  which 
the  author  may  interlard  his  copy,  these  are  not 
to  be  considered  by  him,  for  if  he  is  master  of  his 
craft  he  can  learn  nothing  from  them. 

PLAYGOER 

I  do  not  quite  understand  you.  Do  you  mean 
that  when  a  playwright  has  taken  the  trouble  to 
describe  the  scene  in  which  his  men  and  women  are 
to  move  and  talk,  that  the  stage-director  is  to 
take  no  notice  of  such  directions — in  fact,  to 
disregard  them  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  he  regards  or 
disregards  them.  What  he  must  see  to  is  that 
he  makes  his  action  and  scene  match  the  verse  or 
the  prose,  the  beauty  of  it,  the  sense  of  it.  What- 
ever picture  the  dramatist  may  wish  us  to  know 
of,  he  will  describe  his  scene  during  the  progress 
of  the  conversation  between  the  characters.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  first  scene  in  Hamlet.  It  begins  : — 

149 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      ^ 

Ber.    Who's  there  ? 

Fran.   Nay,  answer  me  ;  stand  and  unfold  yourself. 

Ber.    Long  live  the  king  ! 

Fran.    Bernardo  ? 

Ber.   He. 

Fran.    You  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour. 

Ber.    'Tis  now  struck  twelve  ;  get  thee  to  bed,  Francisco. 

Fran.    For  this  relief  much  thanks,  'tis  bitter  cold, 
And  I  am  sick  at  heart. 

Ber.    Have  you  had  quiet  guard  ? 

Fran.    Not  a  mouse  stirring. 

Ber.   Well,  good  night 

If  you  do  meet  Horatio  and  Marcellus, 

The  rivals  of  my  watch,  bid  them  make  haste. 

That  is  enough  to  guide  the  stage-director.  He 
gathers  from  it  that  it  is  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 
that  it  is  in  the  open  air,  that  the  guard  of  some 
castle  is  being  changed,  that  it  is  very  cold,  very 
quiet,  and  very  dark.  Any  additional  "  stage 
directions  "  by  the  dramatist  are  trivialities. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  you  do  not  think  that  an  author  should 
write  any  stage  directions  whatever,  and  you  seem 
to  consider  it  an  offence  on  his  part  if  he  does  so  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  is  it  not  an  offence  to  the  men  of  the 
theatre  ? 

PLAYGOER 
In  what  way  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
First  tell  me  the  greatest  offence  an  actor  can 

give  to  a  dramatist. 

150 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 
To  play  his  part  badly  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  that  may  merely  prove  the  actor  to  be  a 
bad  craftsman. 

PLAYGOER 
Tell  me,  then. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  greatest  offence  an  actor  can  give  to  a  dra- 
matist is  to  cut  out  words  or  lines  in  his  play,  or 
to  insert  what  is  known  as  a  "  gag."  It  is  an 
offence  to  poach  on  what  is  the  sole  property  of 
the  playwright.  It  is  not  usual  to  "  gag "  in 
Shakespeare,  and  when  it  is  done  it  does  not  go 
uncensured. 

PLAYGOER 

But  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  stage  directions 
of  the  playwright,  and  in  what  way  does  the  play- 
wright offend  the  theatre  when  he  dictates  these 
stage  directions  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

He  offends  in  that  he  poaches  on  their  preserves. 
If  to  gag  or  cut  the  poet's  lines  is  an  offence,  so  is 
it  an  offence  to  tamper  with  the  art  of  the  stage- 
director. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  is  all  the  stage  direction  of  the  world's 
plays  worthless  ? 

151 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      e> 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Not  to  the  reader,  but  to  the  stage-director, 
and  to  the  actor — yes. 

PLAYGOER 
But  Shakespeare — 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Shakespeare  seldom  directs  the  stage-manager. 
Go  through  Hamlet,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  King  Lear, 
Othello,  any  of  the  masterpieces,  and  except  in 
some  of  the  historical  plays  which  contain  descrip- 
tions of  possessions,  etc.,  what  do  you  find  ?  How 
are  the  scenes  described  in  Hamlet  ? 

PLAYGOER 

My  copy  shows  a  clear  description.  It  has 
"  Act  I.,  scene  i.  Elsinore.  A  platform  before 
the  Castle." 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  are  looking  at  a  late  edition  with  additions 
by  a  certain  Mr.  Malone,  but  Shakespeare  wrote 
nothing  of  the  kind.  His  words  are  "  Actus  primus. 
Scaena  prima."  .  .  .  And  now  let  us  look  at 
Romeo  and  Juliet.  What  does  your  book  say  ? 

PLAYGOER 

It  says  :  "  Act  I.,  scene  i.  Verona.  A  public 
place." 

152 


^>      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  the  second  scene  ? 

PLAYGOER 
It  says  :  "  Scene  ii.     A  street." 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  the  third  scene  ? 

PLAYGOER 

It  says :  "  Scene  iii.  A  room  in  Capulet's 
house." 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  now,  would  you  like  to  hear  what  scene 
directions  Shakespeare  actually  wrote  for  this 
play? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

He  wrote  :  "  Actus  primus.  Scaena  prima." 
And  not  another  word  as  to  act  or  scene  throughout 
the  whole  play.  And  now  for  King  Lear. 

PLAYGOER 

No,  it  is  enough.  I  see  now.  Evidently  Shake- 
speare relied  upon  the  intelligence  of  the  stage-men 
to  complete  their  scene  from  his  indication.  .  . 
But  is  this  the  same  in  regard  to  the  actions  ? 
Does  not  Shakespeare  place  some  descriptions 
through  Hamlet,  such  as  "  Hamlet  leaps  into 

153 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

Ophelia's  grave,"  "  Laertes  grapples  with  him," 
and  later,  "  The  attendants  part  them,  and  they 
come  out  of  the  grave  "  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  not  one  word.  All  the  stage  directions, 
from  the  first  to  the  last,  are  the  tame  inventions 
of  sundry  editors,  Mr.  Malone,  Mr.  Capell,  Theobald 
and  others,  and  they  have  committed  an  indiscre- 
tion in  tampering  with  the  play,  for  which  we,  the 
men  of  the  theatre,  have  to  suffer. 

PLAYGOER 
How  is  that  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Why,  supposing  any  of  us  reading  Shakespeare 
shall  see  in  our  mind's  eye  some  other  combination 
of  movements  contrary  to  the  "  instructions  "  of 
these  gentlemen,  and  suppose  we  represent  our 
ideas  on  the  stage,  we  are  instantly  taken  to  task 
by  some  knowing  one,  who  accuses  us  of  altering 
the  directions  of  Shakespeare — nay  more,  of  alter- 
ing his  very  intentions. 

PLAYGOER 

But  do  not  the  "  knowing  ones,"  as  you  call 
them,  know  that  Shakespeare  wrote  no  stage 
directions  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

One  can  only  guess  that  to  be  the  case,  to  judge 
from  their  indiscreet  criticisms.  Anyhow,  what 

154 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

I  wanted  to  show  you  was  that  our  greatest  modern 
poet  realized  that  to  add  stage  directions  was 
first  of  all  unnecessary,  and  secondly,  tasteless. 
We  can  therefore  be  sure  that  Shakespeare  at  any 
rate  realized  what  was  the  work  of  the  theatre 
craftsman — the  stage-manager,  and  that  it  was 
part  of  the  stage-manager's  task  to  invent  the 
scenes  in  which  the  play  was  to  be  set. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  and  you  were  telling  me  what  each  part 
consisted  of. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Quite  so.  And  now  that  we  have  disposed  of 
the  error  that  the  author's  directions  are  of  any 
use,  we  can  continue  to  speak  of  the  way  the 
stage-manager  sets  to  work  to  interpret  faithfully 
the  play  of  the  dramatist.  I  have  said  that  he 
swears  to  follow  the  text  faithfully,  and  that  his 
first  work  is  to  read  the  play  through  and  get  the 
great  impression;  and  in  reading,  as  I  have  said, 
begins  to  see  the  whole  colour,  rhythm,  action  of 
the  thing.  He  then  puts  the  play  aside  for  some 
time,  and  in  his  mind's  eye  mixes  his  palette  (to 
use  a  painter's  expression)  with  the  colours  which 
the  impression  of  the  play  has  called  up.  There- 
fore, on  sitting  down  a  second  time  to  read  through 
the  play,  he  is  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  which 
he  proposes  to  test.  At  the  end  of  the  second 
reading  he  will  find  that  his  more  definite  impres- 

155 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

sions  have  received  clear  and  unmistakable  corro- 
boration,  and  that  some  of  his  impressions  which 
were  less  positive  have  disappeared.  He  will  then 
make  a  note  of  these.  It  is  possible  that  he  will 
even  now  commence  to  suggest,  in  line  and  colour, 
some  of  the  scenes  and  ideas  which  are  filling  his 
head,  but  this  is  more  likely  to  be  delayed  until 
he  has  re-read  the  play  at  least  a  dozen  times. 

PLAYGOER 

But  I  thought  the  stage-manager  always  left 
that  part  of  the  play — the  scene  designing — to 
the  scene  painter  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

So  he  does,  generally.  First  blunder  of  the 
modern  theatre. 

PLAYGOER 
How  is  it  a  blunder  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

This  way  :  A  has  written  a  play  which  B  promises 
to  interpret  faithfully.  In  so  delicate  a  matter 
as  the  interpretation  of  so  elusive  a  thing  as  the 
spirit  of  a  play,  which,  do  you  think,  will  be  the 
surest  way  to  preserve  the  unity  of  that  spirit  ? 
Will  it  be  best  if  B  does  all  the  work  by  himself  ? 
or  will  it  do  to  give  the  work  into  the  hands  of 
C,  D,  and  E,  each  of  whom  see  or  think  differently 
to  B  or  A  ? 

156 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

PLAYGOER 

Of  course  the  former  would  be  best.  But  is  it 
possible  for  one  man  to  do  the  work  of  three  men  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

That  is  the  only  way  the  work  can  be  done,  if 
unity,  the  one  thing  vital  to  a  work  of  art,  is  to 
be  obtained. 

PLAYGOER 

So,  then,  the  stage-manager  does  not  call  in  a 
scene  painter  and  ask  him  to  design  a  scene,  but 
he  designs  one  himself  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly.  And  remember  he  does  not  merely 
sit  down  and  draw  a  pretty  or  historically  accurate 
design,  with  enough  doors  and  windows  in  pictu- 
resque places,  but  he  first  of  all  chooses  certain 
colours  which  seem  to  him  to  be  in  harmony  with 
the  spirit  of  the  play,  rejecting  other  colours  as 
out  of  tune.  He  then  weaves  into  a  pattern 
certain  objects — an  arch,  a  fountain,  a  balcony, 
a  bed — using  the  chosen  object  as  the  centre  of 
his  design.  Then  he  adds  to  this  all  the  objects 
which  are  mentioned  in  the  play,  and  which  are 
necessary  to  be  seen.  To  these  he  adds,  one  by 
one,  each  character  which  appears  in  the  play, 
and  gradually  each  movement  of  each  character, 
and  each  costume.  He  is  as  likely  as  not  to  make 
several  mistakes  in  his  pattern.  If  so,  he  must, 

157 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

as  it  were,  unpick  the  design,  and  rectify  the  blunder 
even  if  he  has  to  go  right  back  to  the  beginning 
and  start  the  pattern  all  over  again — or  he  may 
even  have  to  begin  a  new  pattern.  At  any  rate, 
slowly,  harmoniously,  must  the  whole  design 
develop,  so  that  the  eye  of  the  beholder  shall  be 
satisfied.  While  this  pattern  for  the  eye  is  being 
devised,  the  designer  is  being  guided  as  much 
by  the  sound  of  the  verse  or  prose  as  by  the  sense 
or  spirit.  And  shortly  all  is  prepared,  and  the 
actual  work  can  be  commenced. 

PLAYGOER 

What  actual  work  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
stage-manager  has  already  been  doing  a  good  deal 
of  what  may  be  called  actual  work. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  perhaps;  but  the  difficulties  have  but 
commenced.  By  the  actual  work  I  mean  the 
work  which  needs  skilled  labour,  such  as  the 
actual  painting  of  the  huge  spaces  of  canvas  for 
the  scenes,  and  the  actual  making  of  the  costumes. 

PLAYGOER 

You  are  not  going  to  tell  me  that  the  stage- 
manager  actually  paints  his  own  scenes  and  cuts 
his  own  costumes,  and  sews  them  together  ? 

158 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  I  will  not  say  that  he  does  so  in  every  case 
and  for  every  play,  but  he  must  have  done  so  at 
one  time  or  another  during  his  apprenticeship, 
or  must  have  closely  studied  all  the  technical 
points  of  these  complicated  crafts.  Then  will 
he  be  able  to  guide  the  skilled  craftsmen  in  their 
different  departments.  And  when  the  actual 
making  of  the  scenes  and  costumes  has  commenced, 
the  parts  are  distributed  to  the  different  actors, 
who  learn  the  words  before  a  single  rehearsal 
takes  place.  (This,  as  you  may  guess,  is  not  the 
custom,  but  it  is  what  should  be  seen  to  by  a  stage- 
director  such  as  I  describe.)  Meantime,  the  scenes 
and  costumes  are  almost  ready.  I  will  not  tell  you 
the  amount  of  interesting  but  laborious  work  it 
entails  to  prepare  the  play  up  to  this  point.  But 
even  when  once  the  scenes  are  placed  upon  the 
stage,  and  the  costumes  upon  the  actors,  the 
difficulty  of  the  work  is  still  great. 

PLAYGOER 
The  stage-director's  work  is  not  finished  then  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Finished  !     What  do  you  mean  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  I  thought  now  that  the  scenes  and  costumes 
were  all  seen  to,  the  actors  and  actresses  would 
do  the  rest. 

159 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE     o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  the  stage-manager's  most  interesting  work 
is  now  beginning.  His  scene  is  set  and  his  char- 
acters are  clothed.  He  has,  in  short,  a  kind  of 
dream  picture  in  front  of  him.  He  clears  the  stage 
of  all  but  the  one,  two,  or  more  characters  who 
are  to  commence  the  play,  and  he  begins  the  scheme 
of  lighting  these  figures  and  the  scene. 

PLAYGOER 

What,  is  not  this  branch  left  to  the  discretion 
of  the  master  electrician  and  his  men  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  doing  of  it  is  left  to  them,  but  the  manner 
of  doing  it  is  the  business  of  the  stage-manager. 
Being,  as  I  have  said,  a  man  of  some  intelligence 
and  training,  he  has  devised  a  special  way  of 
lighting  his  scene  for  this  play,  just  as  he  has 
devised  a  special  way  of  painting  the  scene  and 
costuming  the  figures.  If  the  word  "  harmony  " 
held  no  significance  for  him,  he  would  of  course 
leave  to  it  the  first  comer. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  do  you  actually  mean  that  he  has  made 
so  close  a  study  of  nature  that  he  can  direct  his 
electricians  how  to  make  it  appear  as  if  the  sun 
were  shining  at  such  and  such  an  altitude,  or  as  if 
the  moonlight  were  flooding  the  interior  of  the 
room  with  such  and  such  an  intensity  ?  • 

160 


^     THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  I  should  not  like  to  suggest  that,  because 
the  reproduction  of  nature's  lights  is  not  what 
my  stage-manager  ever  attempts.  Neither  should 
he  attempt  such  an  impossibility.  Not  to  repro- 
duce nature,  but  to  suggest  some  of  her  most  beauti- 
ful and  most  living  ways — that  is  what  my  stage- 
manager  shall  attempt.  The  other  thing  pro- 
claims an  overbearing  assumption  of  omnipotence. 
A  stage-manager  may  well  aim  to  be  an  artist, 
but  it  ill  becomes  him  to  attempt  celestial  honours. 
This  attitude  he  can  avoid  by  never  trying  to 
imprison  or  copy  nature,  for  nature  will  be  neither 
imprisoned  nor  allow  any  man  to  copy  her  with 
any  success. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  in  what  way  does  he  set  to  work  ?  What 
guides  hmi  in  his  task  of  lighting  the  scene  and 
costumes  which  we  are  speaking  about  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

What  guides  him  ?  Why,  the  scene  and  the 
costumes,  and  the  verse  and  the  prose,  and  the 
sense  of  the  play.  All  these  things,  as  I  told  you, 
have  now  been  brought  into  harmony,  the  one 
with  the  other — all  goes  smoothly — what  simpler, 
then,  that  it  should  so  continue,  and  that  the 
manager  should  be  the  only  one  to  know  how  to 
preserve  this  harmony  which  he  has  commenced 
to  create  ? 

M  161 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 

Will  you  tell  me  some  more  about  the  actual 
way  of  lighting  the  scene  and  the  actors  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Certainly.     What  do  you  want  to  know  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  will  you  tell  me  why  they  put  lights  all 
along  the  floor  of  the  stage — footlights  they  call 
them,  I  believe  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Yes,  footlights. 

PLAYGOER 
Well,  why  are  they  put  on  the  ground  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  is  one  of  the  questions  which  has  puzzled 
all  the  theatre  reform  gentlemen,  and  none  have 
been  able  to  find  an  answer,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  there  is  no  answer.  There  never  was  an 
answer,  there  never  will  be  an  answer.  The  only 
thing  to  do  is  to  remove  all  the  footlights  out  of 
all  the  theatres  as  quickly  as  possible  and  say 
nothing  about  it.  It  is  one  of  those  queer  things 
which  nobody  can  explain,  and  at  which  children 
are  always  surprised.  Little  Nancy  Lake,  in  1812, 
went  to  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  and  her  father  tells 

162 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

us  that  she  also  was  astonished  at  the  footlights. 
Said  she  : — 

"  And  there's  a  row  of  lamps,  my  eye  ! 
How  they  do  blaze — I  wonder  why 
They  keep  them  on  the  ground." 

— Rejected  Addresses. 

That  was  in  1812  !  and  we  are  still  wondering. 

PLAYGOER 

A  friend  of  mine — an  actor — once  told  me  that 
if  there  were  no  footlights  all  the  faces  of  the  actors 
would  look  dirty. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

That  was  the  remark  of  a  man  who  did  not 
understand  that  in  place  of  the  footlights  another 
method  of  lighting  the  faces  and  figures  could  be 
adopted.  It  is  this  simple  kind  of  thing  which 
never  occurs  to  those  people  who  will  not  devote 
a  little  time  to  even  a  slight  study  of  the  other 
branches  of  the  craft. 

PLAYGOER 

Do  not  the  actors  study  the  other  crafts  of  the 
theatre  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

As  a  rule — no,  and  in  some  ways  it  is  opposed 
to  the  very  life  of  an  actor.  If  an  actor  of  intelli- 
gence were  to  devote  much  time  to  the  study  of 
all  the  branches  of  the  theatrical  art  he  would 
gradually  cease  to  act,  and  would  end  by  becoming 
M  2  163 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

a  stage-manager — so  absorbing  is  the  whole  art 
in  comparison  with  the  single  craft  of  acting. 

PLAYGOER 

My  friend  the  actor  also  added  that  if  the  foot- 
lights were  removed  the  audience  would  not  be 
able  to  see  the  expression  of  his  face. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Had  Henry  Irving  or  Elenora  Duse  said  so,  the 
remark  would  have  had  some  meaning.  The 
ordinary  actor's  face  is  either  violently  expressive 
or  violently  inexpressive,  that  it  would  be  a  bless- 
ing if  the  theatres  were  not  only  without  footlights 
but  without  any  lights  at  all.  By  the  way,  an 
excellent  theory  of  the  origin  of  the  footlights  is 
advanced  by  M.  Ludovic  Celler  in  Les  Decors,  les 
costumes  et  la  mise  en-scene  au  XVII.  siecle.  The 
usual  way  of  lighting  the  stage  was  by  means  of 
large  chandeliers,  circular  or  triangular,  which 
were  suspended  above  the  heads  of  the  actors 
and  the  audience;  and  M.  Celler  is  of  the  opinion 
that  the  system  of  footlights  owes  its  origin  to  the 
small  plain  theatres  which  could  not  afford  to  have 
chandeliers,  and  therefore  placed  tallow  candles 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  stage.  I  believe  this 
theory  to  be  correct,  for  common  sense  could  not 
have  dictated  such  an  artistic  blunder;  whereas 
the  box-office  receipts  may  easily  have  done  so. 

Remember  how  little  artistic  virtue  is  in  the  box- 

164 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

office  !  When  we  have  time  I  will  tell  you  some 
things  about  this  same  powerful  usurper  of  the 
theatrical  throne — the  box-office.  But  let  us 
return  to  a  more  serious  and  a  more  interesting 
topic  than  this  lack  of  expression  and  this  footlight 
matter.  We  had  passed  in  review  the  different 
tasks  of  the  stage -manager — scene,  costume, 
lighting — and  we  had  come  to  the  most  interest- 
ing part,  that  of  the  manipulation  of  the  figures 
in  all  their  movements  and  speeches.  You  ex- 
pressed astonishment  that  the  acting — that  is  to 
say,  the  speaking  and  actions  of  the  actors — was 
not  left  to  the  actors  to  arrange  for  themselves. 
But  consider  for  an  instant  the  nature  of  this  work. 
Would  you  have  that  which  has  already  grown 
into  a  certain  unified  pattern,  suddenly  spoiled 
by  the  addition  of  something  accidental  ? 

PLAYGOER 

How  do  you  mean  ?  I  understand  what  you 
suggest,  but  will  you  not  show  me  more  exactly 
how  the  actor  can  spoil  the  pattern  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Unconsciously  spoil  it,  mind  you  !  I  do  not 
for  an  instant  mean  that  it  is  his  wish  to  be  out 
of  harmony  with  his  surroundings,  but  he  does 
so  through  innocence.  Some  actors  have  the  right 
instincts  in  this  matter,  and  some  have  none 
whatever.  But  even  those  whose  instincts  are 

165 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

most  keen  cannot  remain  in  the  pattern,  cannot 
be  harmonious,  without  following  the  directions 
of  the  stage-manager. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  you  do  not  even  permit  the  leading  actor 
and  actress  to  move  and  act  as  their  instincts  and 
reason  dictate  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  rather  must  they  be  the  very  first  to  follow 
the  direction  of  the  stage-manager,  so  often  do  they 
become  the  very  centre  of  the  pattern — the  very 
heart  of  the  emotional  design. 

PLAYGOER 

And  is  that  understood  and  appreciated  by 
them? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  but  only  when  they  realize  and  appreciate 
at  the  same  time  that  the  play,  and  the  right  and 
just  interpretation  of  the  play,  is  the  all-important 
thing  in  the  modern  theatre.  Let  me  illustrate 
this  point  to  you.  The  play  to  be  presented  is 
Romeo  and  Juliet.  We  have  studied  the  play, 
prepared  scene  and  costume,  lighted  both,  and  now 
our  rehearsals  for  the  actors  commence.  The  first 
movement  of  the  great  crowd  of  unruly  citizens 
of  Verona,  fighting,  swearing,  killing  each  other, 
appals  us.  It  horrifies  us  that  in  this  white  little 

166 


o     THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

city  of  roses  and  song  and  love  there  should  dwell 
this  amazing  and  detestable  hate  which  is  ready 
to  burst  out  at  the  very  church  doors,  or  in  the 
middle  of  the  May  festival,  or  under  the  windows 
of  the  house  of  a  newly  born  girl.  Quickly  follow- 
ing on  this  picture,  and  even  while  we  remember 
the  ugliness  which  larded  both  faces  of  Capulet 
and  Montague,  there  comes  strolling  down  the 
road  the  son  of  Montague,  our  Romeo,  who  is 
soon  to  be  lover  and  the  loved  of  his  Juliet.  There- 
fore, whoever  is  chosen  to  move  and  speak  as 
Romeo  must  move  and  speak  as  part  and  parcel 
of  the  design — this  design  which  I  have  already 
pointed  out  to  you  as  having  a  definite  form.  He 
must  move  across  our  sight  in  a  certain  way, 
passing  to  a  certain  point,  in  a  certain  light,  his 
head  at  a  certain  angle,  his  eyes,  his  feet,  his 
whole  body  in  tune  with  the  play,  and  not  (as 
is  often  the  case)  in  tune  with  his  own  thoughts 
only,  and  these  out  of  harmony  with  the  play. 
For  his  thoughts  (beautiful  as  they  may  chance 
to  be)  may  not  match  the  spirit  or  the  pattern 
which  has  been  so  carefully  prepared  by  the 
director. 

PLAYGOER 

Would  you  have  the  stage-manager  control  the 
movements  of  whoever  might  be  impersonating 
the  character  of  Romeo,  even  if  he  were  a  fine 
actor  ? 

167 


o     THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Most  certainly;  and  the  finer  the  actor  the  finer 
his  intelligence  and  taste,  and  therefore  the  more 
easily  controlled.  In  fact,  I  am  speaking  in  par- 
ticular of  a  theatre  wherein  all  the  actors  are  men 
of  refinement  and  the  manager  a  man  of  peculiar 
accomplishments. 

PLAYGOER 

But  are  you  not  asking  these  intelligent  actors 
almost  to  become  puppets  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

A  sensitive  question  !  which  one  would  expect 
from  an  actor  who  felt  uncertain  about  his  powers. 
A  puppet  is  at  present  only  a  doll,  delightful 
enough  for  a  puppet  show.  But  for  a  theatre  we 
need  more  than  a  doll.  Yet  that  is  the  feeling 
which  some  actors  have  about  their  relationship 
with  the  stage-manager.  They  feel  they  are 
having  their  strings  pulled,  and  resent  it,  and  show 
they  feel  hurt — insulted. 

PLAYGOER 
I  can  understand  that. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  cannot  you  also  understand  that  they  should 
be  willing  to  be  controlled  ?  Consider  for  a  moment 
the  relationship  of  the  men  on  a  ship,  and  you  will 

168 


o     THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

understand  what  I  consider  to  be  the  relationship 
of  men  in  a  theatre.  Who  are  the  workers  on  a 
ship  ? 

PLAYGOER 

A  ship  ?  Why,  there  is  the  captain,  the  com- 
mander, the  first,  second  and  third  lieutenants,  the 
navigation  officer,  and  so  on,  and  the  crew. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Well,  and  what  is  it  that  guides  the  ship  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  rudder  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Yes,  and  what  else  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  steersman  who  holds  the  wheel  of  the  rudder 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  who  else  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  man  who  controls  the  steersman. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  who  is  that  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  navigation  officer. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  who  controls  the  navigation  officer  ? 
169 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 
The  captain. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  are  any  orders  which  do  not  come  from  the 
captain,  or  by  his  authority,  obeyed  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No,  they  should  not  be. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And   can   the   ship   steer   its   course   in   safety 
without  the  captain  ? 

PLAYGOER 
It  is  not  usual. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  do  the  crew  obey  the  captain  and  his  officers? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  as  a  rule. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Willingly  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  is  that  not  called  discipline  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  discipline — what  is  that  the  result  of  ? 
170 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 

The  proper  and  willing  subjection  to  rules  and 
principles. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  the  first  of  those  principles  is  obedience, 
is  it  not  ? 

PLAYGOER 

It  is. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  well,  then.  It  will  not  be  difficult  for  you 
to  understand  that  a  theatre  in  which  so  many 
hundred  persons  are  engaged  at  work  is  in  many 
respects  like  a  ship,  and  demands  like  manage- 
ment. And  it  will  not  be  difficult  for  you  to  see 
how  the  slightest  sign  of  disobedience  would  be 
disastrous.  Mutiny  has  been  well  anticipated  in 
the  navy,  but  not  in  the  theatre.  The  navy  has 
taken  care  to  define,  in  clear  and  unmistakable 
voice,  that  the  captain  of  the  vessel  is  the  king,  and 
a  despotic  ruler  into  the  bargain.  Mutiny  on  a 
ship  is  dealt  with  by  a  court-martial,  and  is  put 
down  by  very  severe  punishment,  by  imprisonment, 
or  by  dismissal  from  the  service. 

PLAYGOER 

But  you  are  not  going  to  suggest  such  a  possi- 
bility for  the  theatre  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  theatre,  unlike  the   ship,  is  not  made  for 
171 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

purposes  of  war,  and  so  for  some  unaccountable 
reason  discipline  is  not  held  to  be  of  such  vital  im- 
portance, whereas  it  is  of  as  much  importance  as  in 
any  branch  of  service.  But  what  I  wish  to  show  you 
is  that  until  discipline  is  understood  in  a  theatre  to  be 
willing  and  reliant  obedience  to  the  manager  or  cap- 
tain no  supreme  achievement  can  be  accomplished. 

PLAYGOER 

But  are  not  the  actors,  scene-men,  and  the  rest 
all  willing  workers  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Why,  my  dear  friend,  there  never  were  such 
glorious  natured  people  as  these  men  and  women 
of  the  theatre.  They  are  enthusiastically  willing, 
but  sometimes  their  judgment  is  at  fault,  and  they 
become  as  willing  to  be  unruly  as  to  be  obedient, 
and  as  Mailing  to  lower  the  standard  as  to  raise  it. 
As  for  nailing  the  flag  to  the  mast — this  is  seldom 
dreamed  of — for  compromise  and  the  vicious  doctrine 
of  compromise  with  the  enemy  is  preached  by  the 
officers  of  the  theatrical  navy.  Our  enemies  are 
vulgar  display,  the  lower  public  opinion,  and  ignor- 
ance. To  these  our  "  officers  "  wish  us  to  knuckle 
under.  What  the  theatre  people  have  not  yet  quite 
comprehended  is  the  value  of  a  high  standard  and 
the  value  of  a  director  who  abides  by  it. 

PLAYGOER 

And  that  director,  why  should  he  not  be  an 
actor  or  a  scene-painter  ? 

172 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Do  you  pick  your  leader  from  the  ranks,  exalt 
him  to  be  captain,  and  then  let  him  handle  the 
guns  and  the  ropes  ?  No ;  the  director  of  a  theatre 
must  be  a  man  apart  from  any  of  the  crafts.  He 
must  be  a  man  who  knows  but  no  longer  handles 

the  ropes. 

PLAYGOER 

But  I  believe  it  is  a  fact  that  many  well-known 
leaders  in  the  theatres  have  been  actors  and  stage- 
managers  at  the  same  time  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  that  is  so.  But  you  will  not  find  it  easy 
to  assure  me  that  no  mutiny  was  heard  of  under 
their  rule.  Right  away  from  all  this  question  of 
positions  there  is  the  question  of  the  art,  the  work. 
If  an  actor  assumes  the  management  of  the  stage, 
and  if  he  is  a  better  actor  than  his  fellows,  a  natural 
instinct  will  lead  him  to  make  himself  the  centre 
of  everything.  He  will  feel  that  unless  he  does 
so  the  work  will  appear  thin  and  unsatisfying. 
He  will  pay  less  heed  to  the  play  than  he  will  to 
his  own  part,  and  he  will,  in  fact,  gradually  cease 
to  look  upon  the  work  as  a  whole.  And  this  is 
not  good  for  the  work.  This  is  not  the  way  a 
work  of  art  is  to  be  produced  in  the  theatre. 

PLAYGOER 

But  might  it  not  be  possible  to  find  a  great 
173 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

actor  who  would  be  so  great  an  artist  that  as 
manager  he  would  never  do  as  you  say,  but  who 
would  always  handle  himself  as  actor,  just  the 
same  as  he  handles  the  rest  of  the  material  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

All  things  are  possible,  but,  firstly,  it  is  against 
the  nature  of  an  actor  to  do  as  you  suggest; 
secondly,  it  is  against  the  nature  of  the  stage- 
manager  to  perform;  and  thirdly,  it  is  against 
all  nature  that  a  man  can  be  in  two  places  at  once. 
Now,  the  place  of  the  actor  is  on  the  stage,  in  a 
certain  position,  ready  by  means  of  his  brains  to 
give  suggestions  of  certain  emotions,  surrounded 
by  certain  scenes  and  people;  and  it  is  the  place 
of  the  stage-manager  to  be  in  front  of  this,  that 
he  may  view  it  as  a  whole.  So  that  you  see  even 
if  we  found  our  perfect  actor  who  was  our  perfect 
stage-manager,  he  could  not  be  in  two  places  at 
the  same  time.  Of  course  we  have  sometimes 
seen  the  conductor  of  a  small  orchestra  playing 
the  part  of  the  first  violin,  but  not  from  choice, 
and  not  to  a  satisfactory  issue;  neither  is  it  the 
practice  in  large  orchestras. 

PLAYGOER 

I  understand,  then,  that  you  would  allow  no 
one  to  rule  on  the  stage  except  the  stage-manager  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  nature  of  the  work  permits  nothing  else. 
174 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 
Not  even  the  playwright  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Only  when  the  playwright  has  practised  and 
studied  the  crafts  of  acting,  scene-painting,  cos- 
tume, lighting,  and  dance,  not  otherwise.  But 
playwrights,  who  have  not  been  cradled  in  the 
theatre,  generally  know  little  of  these  crafts. 
Goethe,  whose  love  for  the  theatre  remained  ever 
fresh  and  beautiful,  was  in  many  ways  one  of  the 
greatest  of  stage-directors.  But,  when  he  linked 
himself  to  the  Weimar  theatre,  he  forgot  to  do 
what  the  great  musician  who  followed  him  remem- 
bered. Goethe  permitted  an  authority  in  the 
theatre  higher  than  himself,  that  is  to  say,  the 
owner  of  the  theatre.  Wagner  was  careful  to 
possess  himself  of  his  theatre,  and  become  a  sort 
of  feudal  baron  in  his  castle. 

PLAYGOER 

Was  Goethe's  failure  as  a  theatre  director  due 
to  this  fact  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Obviously,  for  had  Goethe  held  the  keys  of  the 
doors  that  impudent  little  poodle  would  never 
have  got  as  far  as  its  dressing-room;  the  leading 
lady  would  never  have  made  the  theatre  and  her- 
self immortally  ridiculous;  and  Weimar  would 

175 


^>      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      ^ 

have  been  saved  the  tradition  of  having  perpetrated 
the  most  shocking  blunder  which  ever  occurred 
inside  a  theatre. 

PLAYGOER 

The  traditions  of  most  theatres  certainly  do  not 
seem  to  show  that  the  artist  is  held  in  much  respect 
on  the  stage. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  it  would  be  easy  to  say  a  number  of  hard 
things  about  the  theatre  and  its  ignorance  of  art. 
But  one  does  not  hit  a  thing  which  is  down,  unless, 
perhaps,  with  the  hope  that  the  shock  may  cause 
it  to  leap  to  its  feet  again.  And  our  Western 
theatre  is  very  much  down.  The  East  still  boasts 
a  theatre.  Ours  here  in  the  West  is  on  its  last 
legs.  But  I  look  for  a  Renaissance. 

PLAYGOER 
How  will  that  come  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Through  the  advent  of  a  man  who  shall  contain 
in  him  all  the  qualities  which  go  to  make  up  a 
master  of  the  theatre,  and  through  the  reform 
of  the  theatre  as  an  instrument.  When  that  is 
accomplished,  when  the  theatre  has  become  a 
masterpiece  of  mechanism,  when  it  has  invented 
a  technique,  it  will  without  any  effort  develop  a 
creative  art  of  its  own.  But  the  whole  question 
of  the  development  of  the  craft  into  a  self-reliant 

176 


THE  VIKINGS 
COSTUME  DESIGN  FOB  "  SIGURD.'* 

/  produced  "  The  Vikings,'1  by  Henrik  Ibsen,  in  1903,  for  my 
mother,  at  the  Imperial  Theatre,  now  destroyed.  It  was  what  in 
England  is  called  "  an  artistic  success  but  a  financial  failure.'1 
Instead  of  assisting  to  make  the  play  a  success,  some  of  the  leading 
actors  did  their  best  to  ruin  its  prospects.  Had  I  been  allowed 
"  carte  blanche  Zl  /  should  have  cleared  out  the  unruly  members  of 
the  cast,  and  produced  the  play  a  second  time — had  that  failed  I 
should  have  produced  it  a  third  time,  probably  in  a  more  central 
theatre,  for  the  "  Imperial "  ce/tainly  was  a  difficult  theatre  to  find 
and  reach. 

If  a  play  is  "  an  artistic  success,'1  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  its 
financial  success.  The  public,  when  it  knows  where  it  can  see  a 
good  thing,  never  fails  in  time  to  go  and  see  that  good  thing.  It  is 
a  vicious  doctrine  to  teach  that  the  public  is  a  fool.  The  public  is, 
I  take  it,  the  nation,  and  I  am  not  willing  to  hear  the  nation  abused 
by  a  few  middlemen  who  are  not  in  earnest  about  anything  except 
making  a  small  living  by  serving  the  nation  one  ill  turn  after  another. 
The  nation  should  see  to  it  that  before  long  it  has  better  theatre  work. 
For  the  ba  I  work  in  the  Theatre  of  to-day  has  a  bad  influence  on 
the  masses.  It  is  assisting  towards  the  general  restlessness  which 
has  increased  in  late  years.  The  public  needs  masters  on  whom 
it  can  rely — the  public  is  like  a  woman,  but  if  the  so-called 
"  masters  n  to-day  go  in  so  much  for  what  they  call  humouring  the 
public  and  giving  them  nothing,  upheavals  are  bound  to  ensue. 


*AT 


[faff  p age  i  76. 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

and  creative  art  would  take  too  long  to  go  thoroughly 
into  at  present.  There  are  already  some  theatre  men 
at  work  on  the  building  of  the  theatres ;  some  are 
reforming  the  acting,  some  the  scenery.  And  all  of 
this  must  be  of  some  small  value.  But  the  very  first 
thing  to  be  realized  is  that  little  or  no  result  can 
come  from  the  reforming  of  a  single  craft  of  the 
theatre  without  at  the  same  time,  in  the  same 
theatre,  reforming  all  the  other  crafts.  The  whole 
renaissance  of  the  Art  o/  the  Theatre  depends  upon 
the  extent  that  this  is  realized.  The  Art  of  the 
Theatre,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  is  divided  up 
into  so  many  crafts  :  acting,  scene,  costume,  lighting, 
carpentering,  singing,  dancing,  etc.,  that  it  must 
be  realized  at  the  commencement  that  ENTIRE, 
not  PART  reform  is  needed ;  and  it  must  be  realized 
that  one  part,  one  craft,  has  a  direct  bearing  upon 
each  of  the  other  crafts  in  the  theatre,  and  that 
no  result  can  come  from  fitful,  uneven  reform, 
but  only  from  a  systematic  progression.  There- 
fore, the  reform  of  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  is  possible 
to  those  men  alone  who  have  studied  and  practised 
all  the  crafts  of  the  theatre. 

PLAYGOER 
That  is  to  say,  your  ideal  stage-manager. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes.     You  will  remember  that  at  the  commence- 
ment of  our  conversation  I  told  you  my  belief  in  the 
N  177 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

Renaissance  of  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  was  based  in 
my  belief  in  the  Renaissance  of  the  stage-director,  and 
that  when  he  had  understood  the  right  use  of  actors, 
scene,  costume,  lighting,  and  dance,  and  by  means 
of  these  had  mastered  the  crafts  of  interpretation, 
he  would  then  gradually  acquire  the  mastery  of 
action,  line,  colour,  rhythm,  and  words,  this  last 
strength  developing  out  of  all  the  rest.  .  .  .  Then 
I  said  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  would  have  won  back 
its  rights,  and  its  work  would  stand  self-reliant 
as  a  creative  art,  and  no  longer  as  an  interpretative 
craft. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  and  at  the  time  I  did  not  quite  understand 
what  you  meant,  and  though  I  can  now  understand 
your  drift,  I  do  not  quite  in  my  mind's  eye  see  the 
stage  without  its  poet. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

What  ?  Shall  anything  be  lacking  when  the 
poet  shall  no  longer  write  for  the  theatre  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  play  will  be  lacking. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  the  play  will  certainly  not  exist  if  the  poet 
or  playwright  is  not  there  to  write  it. 

178 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

There  will  not  be  any  play  in  the  sense  in  which 
you  use  the  word. 

PLAYGOER 

But  you  propose  to  present  something  to  the 
audience,  and  I  presume  before  you  are  able  to 
present  them  with  that  something  you  must  have 
it  in  your  possession. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly;  you  could  not  have  made  a  surer 
remark.  Where  you  are  at  fault  is  to  take  for 
granted,  as  if  it  were  a  law  for  the  Medes  and 
Persians,  that  that  something  must  be  made  of 
words. 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  what  is  this  something  which  is  not  words, 
but  for  presentation  to  the  audience  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
First  tell  me,  is  not  an  idea  something  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  but  it  lacks  form. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Well,  but  is  it  not  permissible  to  give  an  idea 

whatever  form  the  artist  chooses  ? 
N2  179 


^      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  is  it  an  unpardonable  crime  for  the 
theatrical  artist  to  use  some  different  material 
to  the  poet's  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No. 

STAGE-DIRECTO  R 

Then  we  are  permitted  to  attempt  to  give  form 
to  an  idea  in  whatever  material  we  can  find  or 
invent,  provided  it  is  not  a  material  which  should 
be  put  to  a  better  use  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  good;  follow  what  I  have  to  say  for  the 
next  few  minutes,  and  then  go  home  and  think 
about  it  for  a  while.  Since  you  have  granted  all 
I  asked  you  to  permit,  I  am  now  going  to  tell  you 
out  of  what  material  an  artist  of  the  theatre  of 
the  future  will  create  his  masterpieces.  Out  of 
ACTION,  SCENE,  and  VOICE.  Is  it  not  very  simple  ? 

And  when  I  say  action,  I  mean  both  gesture  and 
dancing,  the  prose  and  poetry  of  action. 

When  I  say  scene,  I  mean  all  which  comes  before 
the  eye,  such  as  the  lighting,  costume,  as  well  as 
the  scenery. 

180 


o      THE    FIRST    DIALOGUE      o 

When  I  say  voice,  I  mean  the  spoken  word  or 
the  word  which  is  sung,  in  contradiction  to  the  word 
which  is  read,  for  the  word  written  to  be  spoken 
and  the  word  written  to  be  read  are  two  entirely 
different  things. 

And  now,  though  I  have  but  repeated  what  I 
told  you  at  the  beginning  of  our  conversation,  I 
am  delighted  to  see  that  you  no  longer  look  so 
puzzled. 

BERLIN  :  1905. 


181 


THE  ART  OF  THE  THEATRE 
THE    SECOND   DIALOGUE 

A    PLAYGOER     AND    A    STAGE    DIRECTOR    SPEAK. 

PLAYGOER 

I  AM  glad  to  see  you  again  after  so  long  an 
absence.  Where  have  you  been  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Abroad. 

PLAYGOER 

What  have  you  been  doing  all  this  time  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Hunting. 

PLAYGOER 

Have  you  turned  sportsman,  then  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  have ;  it  keeps  one  in  good  health.  It  exercises 
all  the  muscles.  I  shall  do  better  work  when  I 
recommence. 

PLAYGOER 

Tell  me  about  it  all,  where  you  have  been  hunting 
and  what  you  have  bagged. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  have  bagged  nothing,  for  the  beast  that  has 
occupied  me  is  not  caught  like  a  rabbit  or  a  hare, 
and  is  far  more  wary  than  a  fox.  Besides,  the 

182 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

sport  is  not  in  the  kill ;  the  sport  lies  in  the  difficul- 
ties which  must  be  surmounted  to  get  at  the  beast, 
and  there  is  no  danger  at  all  after  you  have  found 
him ;  I  have  been  hunting  the  monster  of  a  Fable. 

PLAYGOER 

Which  one  ?  The  Chimaera,  the  Hydra  or  the 
Hippogriff  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

All  of  them  in  one.  They  are  the  composite 
parts  of  an  absurd  monster  called  The  Theatrical,1 
and  I  have  tracked  this  terrible  creature  into  its 
thousand-and-one  caverns  and  conquered  him. 

PLAYGOER 
You  have  destroyed  him  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Yes — I  have  made  friends  with  him. 

PLAYGOER 

Was  there  any  need  for  you  to  have  gone  abroad 
to  do  this  simple  piece  of  by-play  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly,  for  it  was  only  abroad  that  I  found  out 
the  poor  thing's  weak  spots.  I  was  really  a  little 
frightened  at  his  roar  in  England,  and  the  reports 
of  his  cave  and  its  collection  of  dry  skulls  were 
certainly  most  terrifying.  But  when  I  got  abroad 

1  See  note,  p.  291. 
383 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

1  began  to  hunt  cautiously,  and  found  him  one  day 
dancing,  another  day  making  imitations  of  me,  and 
the  third  day  he  invited  me  into  his  cave. 

Naturally  I  accepted  the  invitation  and  took 
bearings.  I  can  now  bring  him  down  when  I  will — 
only  the  poor  dear  would  never  forgive  me  and  I 
should  never  forgive  myself. 

PLAYGOER 

I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  but 
I  suppose  it's  all  right.  It  would  amuse  me  much 
better  if  you  would  stay  at  home  and  produce  a  few 
plays  instead  of  wandering  about  Europe  pretending 
to  hunt. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

But  why  didn't  you  say  so  years  ago  ?  I  should 
never  have  dreamed  of  foreign  lands  if  you  had  but 
signified  your  desire  for  me  to  stay  at  home.  "  One 
must  live,"  as  your  Dramatic  Critic  of  The  Times 
said  to  the  Censor  Committee,  one  cannot  merely 
exist  on  the  spoils  of  other  people's  wars ;  and  so  I 
took  to  sport  and  have  not  known  a  day's  disillusion 
since. 

PLAYGOER 
And  I  have  never  before  felt  so  disillusioned. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
184 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 
I  hate  the  theatre. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Come  now,  you  exaggerate ;  you  used  to  love  it. 
I  remember  you  once  asked  me  all  sorts  of  questions 
about  the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  and  we  had  no  end  of 
a  talk. 

PLAYGOER 

I  hate  it  now — I  never  go  inside  a  theatre  now, 
and  the  reports,  paragraphs,  announcements  and 
interviews  make  me  laugh. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Why  is  that  ? 

PLAYGOER 
That  is  what  I  want  to  know. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Oh,  you  want  me  to  be  your  doctor.  You  are 
hungry  for  the  Theatre  and  you  can't  swallow  it  as 
it  is ;  you  want  a  cure.  Well,  I  can't  cure  you,  for 
I  cannot  alter  the  Theatre  in  a  day  or  during  your 
lifetime,  but  if  you  would  like  to  know  what  your 
old  love  the  Theatre  is  going  to  be  one  day  I  will 
tell  you. 

PLAYGOER 

You  told  me  that  a  long  time  ago,  and  that  has 
only  helped  to  make  me  discontented. 

185 


o   T  HE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

That  is  what  I  hoped ;  but  now  if  you  will  only 
be  patient  I  believe  I  can  do  something  else. 

PLAYGOER 

Don't  tell  me  anything  more  about  the  Art,  or 
the  Temples  which  are  to  contain  the  Art,  or  how 
its  three  component  parts  are  Action,  Scene  and 
Voice,  for  all  that  is  more  awful  to  me  than  your 
Chimaera  Hippogriff  monster  seemed  to  you;  it  is 
all  so  enormous,  too  enormous,  and  impossible.  I 
must  be  6000  years  old  before  it  comes,  and  I  must 
change  all  my  beliefs  and  customs — so  say  nothing 
more  about  that,  I  beg  of  you. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Agreed.  Not  a  word  on  that  awful  subject  shall 
pass  my  lips — till  you  permit  it. 

PLAYGOER 

I  feel  better  already.  I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
but  whenever  I  see  you  coming  an  awful  dread  seizes 
me;  my  teeth  chatter,  my  eyes  dilate,  my  hopes 
leave  me.  "  Will  he  begin  ?  "  I  think;  "  will  he 
start  telling  me  about  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  of  the 
Future  ?  " 

You  see,  it  isn't  that  I  don't  believe  every  word 
you  say  about  it  all ;  what  chokes  me  is  to  see  you 

186 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

taking  it  all  so  quietly.  I  would  do  much  to  assist 
in  the  realization  of  your  dream,  but  I  see  nowhere 
to  begin,  and  you  seem  to  believe  that,  when  you 
have  told  me  your  idea,  it  has  been  realized — you 
leave  no  one  anything  else  to  do. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
That  is  not  my  intention. 

PLAYGOER 

Maybe  not,  but  that  is  the  impression  you  leave 
with  me. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  can  only  apologize,  and  now  that  I  have 
promised  not  to  touch  on  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  I 
propose  to  amuse  you  with  the  affairs  of  the  Theatre. 
To-night  you  will  buy  two  stalls  for  a  musical 
comedy. 

PLAYGOER 

I  have  not  been  inside  a  theatre  for  two  years; 
that  was  due  to  your  last  talk  with  me,  and  now 
you  propose  to  talk  me  round  again  into  the 
Gaiety. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  that  is  it.  The  Gaiety  Theatre,  two  stalls, 
third  row,  near  the  end  of  the  row. 

Now  to  begin — and  try  and  not  interrupt  me 
until  I  have  done. 

Some  years  ago  I  told  you  about  some  giant's 
187 


^   THE    SECOND    DIALOG UE  o 

work;  we  talked  about  the  Theatre,  and  the  pro- 
portion of  my  suggestions  staggered  you.  I  showed 
you  too  much.  Since  then  I  have  shown  more. 
All  this  has  disheartened  you.  Now  I  shall  show 
you  less,  also  the  very  least.  You  shall  have  no 
complaint  to  make  against  me.  When  I  spoke  to 
you  before  it  was  as  artist,  and  artists  have  the 
same  stuff  in  them  as  aviators — they  can  fly.  But 
now  I  come  to  earth  and  shall  talk  to  you  like  an 
ordinary  stage-manager,  who  is  less  of  an  artist 
than  an  administrator;  in  short,  even  at  the  risk 
of  boring  a  good  friend,  I  shall  speak  practically  to 
you. 

You  love  the  Theatre.  The  fact  of  your  not 
going  inside  one  for  a  couple  of  years  proves  it. 
You  had  a  new  ideal  and  you  never  found  it 
realized  there.  The  ideal  to  be  realized  needed 
artists :  there  were  none  in  the  Theatre.  You  love 
the  Theatre  still;  you  would  give  your  head  for 
some  good  reason  for  going  there  again,  and  I  am 
going  to  give  you  a  reason.  It  needs  you. 

PLAYGOER 

Maybe  :  but  it  no  longer  interests  me.  I  cannot 
give  my  reasons  without  giving  offence  to  many  of 
those  who  have  formerly  given  me  much  pleasure. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

For  instance  ? 

188 


o  TH  E    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  if  I  call  the  actor  at  the  Lyceum  theatrical 
he  will  be  offended ;  if  I  find  the  production  at  the 
Elysium  vulgar  I  offend  the  producer,  whom  I  know 
personally.  Besides,  however  much  I  may  protest, 
the  actor  and  the  producer  are  unable  to  change 
their  methods.  I  can  neither  applaud  as  formerly 
nor  protest  as  I  do  to  you,  and  owing  to  this  I  am, 
as  I  tell  you,  entirely  without  interest. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

If  the  cause  of  your  discontent  could  be  removed 
your  interest  would  revive  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Immediately. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Tell  me,  at  what  are  you  dissatisfied  ?  I  am 
neither  the  actor  nor  the  producer. 

PLAYGOER 

No;  but  to  express  it  definitely  at  all  would 
make  me  feel  like  a  traitor  to  all  I  once  loved. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Ah !  then  it  is  you  that  have  changed,  not  the 
theatres. 

PLAYGOER 

Perhaps,  perhaps. 

189 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  you  have  developed  your  sense  of  what  is 
beautiful.  Is  it  possible,  then,  that  I  see  before 
me  the  ideal  spectator  in  person — that  you  have 
become  one  of  that  audience  which  London  has 
been  for  so  long  trying  to  "  educate  "  ? 

PLAYGOER 

No,  not  that ;  not  so  ideal  as  all  that ;  but  maybe 
you  are  right  that  I  have  developed.  The  plays 
and  the  players  cannot  have  altered  so  enormously 
in  two  years,  whereas  one's  outlook  may  have 
changed  entirely. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  now  to  you  everything  on  the  stage  looks  as 
"  weary,  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable  "  as  the  world 
did  to  Hamlet.  But  be  practical,  I  beg  of  you. 
Look  at  the  matter  sensibly.  You  admit  that  the 
stage  has  not  altered,  that  it  is  yourself  only  that 
has  undergone  a  change.  Good !  Then  undergo 
another.  I  do  not  mean  change  back  again,  but 
change  forward. 

PLAYGOER 

Explain  to  me  what  you  mean. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  have  looked  at  the  Theatre  from  two  points 
of  view :  ascend  to  a  third  and  better  point  of  view 
and  see  what  you  shall  see. 

190 


&  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 
That  interests  me. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Follow  me,  then.  At  present  your  interest  in 
the  Theatre  is  on  a  small  scale,  something  like  the 
interest  every  Englishman  takes  in  his  country. 
You  are  in  the  position  of  a  man  who  dislikes  the 
present  government,  that  is  all.  The  Theatre  as  an 
institution  is  composed  of  as  many  parties  as  are 
the  Houses  of  Parliament.  We  have  the  equivalent 
of  the  Conservatives,  Liberals,  Progressives,  Radi- 
cals, Socialists,  the  Labour  Party,  and  even  Suffra- 
gettes are  an  established  part  of  our  institution. 

These  parties  take  themselves  all  very  seriously, 
and  that  does  no  harm.  But  above  and  beyond  all 
parties  there  are  the  Imperialists — let  us  call  them 
by  this  name,  at  any  rate,  Idealists.  An  Imperial- 
ist is  an  Idealist.  You  once  belonged  to  some 
theatrical  party  or  other.  Let  us  say  you  were  a 
Conservative.  You  thought  little  about  the  real 
Conservatism,  but  you  called  yourself  a  Conserva- 
tive, and  soon  you  began  to  weary  of  the  methods 
of  your  leaders.  You  naturally  don't  wish  to  be 
a  turncoat,  and  you  are  thrown  into  a  state  of 
despondency,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  I  can't  veer  round  and  become  one  of  the 
opposite  party,  can  I  ? 

191 


STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly  not.  You  cannot  honourably  become 
a  member  of  any  other  party.  You  cannot  court 
a  second  disillusion.  But  there  is  nothing  in  the 
way  of  your  becoming  an  Imperialist.  Bear  in  mind 
that  I  use  this  word  to  express  the  highest  ideal, 
and  though  I  am  quite  uncertain  what  the  term 
implies  to  you ;  but  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  accept 
it  (for  want  of  a  better)  as  the  best  name  I  can  apply 
to  that  universal  party,  or  brotherhood,  which  is 
composed  of  people  holding  or  tolerating  many 
different,  and  opposite,  views  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  then,  I  am  to  become  an  Imperialist.  Tell 
me  how  to  do  it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

My  dear  fellow,  you  already  look  yourself  again. 
You  are  becoming  positively  interested.  We  had 
better  go  and  look  for  those  seats  at  the  Gaiety  at 
once. 

.    PLAYGOER 

No,  stay  here  and  go  on  talking.  Tell  me  how 
to  become  an  Imperialist. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  you  shall  book  stalls  for  Twelfth  Night  at 
His  Majesty's  Theatre,  a  bench  for  the  Elizabethan 
Stage  Society's  production  of  Samson  Agonistes, 

192 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

upper  circle  for  Sir  Arthur  Pinero's  last  play  at 
St.  James's,  and  go  to  the  pit  at  the  Court  Theatre 
to  see  John  Bull's  Other  Island.  To-night  to  the 
Gaiety,  to-morrow  to  hear  Bach's  Passion  Music 
Drama  at  St.  Paul's,  the  next  evening  to  the 
Empire,  and  in  the  afternoon  to  the  Cinematograph 
in  Oxford  Street.  Neither  must  you  omit  to  go 
to  visit  the  suburbs  to  see  our  great  actress  as 
Portia,  nor  fail  to  attend  one  of  the  British 
Empire  Shakespeare  Society's  performances.  You 
can  do  all  this  in  ten  evenings,  and  in  the  daytime, 
if  you  have  the  time,  you  could  attend  one  of 
Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  lectures  on  the  Drama, 
a  meeting  of  the  Actors'  Association  if  you  can  get 
an  invitation,  and  a  rehearsal  of  a  Drury  Lane 
drama.  In  short,  see  the  worst  and  best  of  every- 
thing; see  all  sides  of  this  work,  and  I  promise  you 
that  you  will  begin  to  love  the  Theatre  once  more. 

PLAYGOER 

Good-bye.     I  knew  you  could  not  help  me.     I 
knew  you  would  tell  me  to  do  all  this.     Why,  man, 

1  did  all  this  two  years  ago  ! 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
You  are  in  a  bad  state  indeed. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  but  do  you  not  see  it  is  all  through  you  ? 
Some  years  ago  you  showed  me  a  visionary  picture 
of  what  the  Theatre  might  become  with  its  blessed 
O  193 


^THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

temples  and  its  beautiful  art  and  all  the  rest  of  it; 
and  that  on  the  one  hand,  and  this  modern  Theatre 
on  the  other  hand,  have  been  to  me  like  deep  sea 
and  devil.  I  can  relish  neither,  so  I  avoid  both. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Come  abroad.  I  can  show  you  a  theatre  in  the 
north  of  Russia  that  will  enchant  you. 

PLAYGOER 
Why  do  you  think  so  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Because  without  its  being  a  temple,  and  all  that 
you  seem  to  dread  so  in  my  programme,  it  is  the 
best  ordered  theatre  in  Europe.  It  is  an  example 
of  what  systematic  reform  can  do  in  a  theatre. 

Plays,  actors,  actresses,  managers,  scenery,  foot- 
lights, limelights,  opera  glasses,  realism,  all  is  there, 
just  as  in  any  other  theatre,  with  this  difference 
— that  it  beats  all  other  theatres  at  their  own 
game. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  Theatre  possible — the 
natural  and  the  artificial.  The  European  theatres 
are  artificial,  and  this  theatre  in  the  north  is  also 
artificial,  since  it  makes  use  of  the  same  artificial 
material  as  that  used  by  the  Opera  House  in  Paris 
or  His  Majesty's  in  London.  The  difference  is 
in  the  use.  Besides  this  their  administration  is 
different  from  that  of  other  European  theatres. 

194 


^THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

Men  are  the  administrators  just  the  same  as  in 
England,  and  yet  the  results  are  different,  for 
the  men  have  remembered  something  which  our 
administrators  have  never  learned. 

PLAYGOER 

Stop  giving  me  any  more  vague  notions  of  this 
theatre  and  tell  me  in  detail  something  of  its 
method. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

With  pleasure.  This  theatre  is  better  than 
others  both  in  the  work  of  the  stage  and  in  the 
manner  of  the  administration. 

PLAYGOER 

In  what  does  the  work  of  the  stage  differ  ?  You 
say  they  do  not  use  different  material  from  that 
employed  by  the  other  theatres  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  the  same.  They  use  actors  who  paint  their 
faces,  scenes  painted  on  canvas  and  stretched  upon 
wood,  footlights  and  other  artificial  lights,  blank 
verse,  phonographs  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  but  they 
make  use  of  these  things  with  taste. 

PLAYGOER 

But  do  none  of  the  other  European  theatres  do 
this? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Other  European  theatres  make  only  a  casual 
study  of  this  strange  artificial  material,  and  so  they 
o  2  195 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

are  unable  to  express  with  any  distinction,  and  the 
canvas  and  the  paint  appear  as  mere  canvas  and 
paint,  things  which  in  themselves  are  not  interesting. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  is  there  no  other  theatre  where  they  use 
these  things  with  taste  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
No. 

PLAYGOER 

I  suppose  the  workers  in  the  Russian  theatre  are 
able  to  use  their  material  more  tastefully  because 
they  have  more  technical  knowledge  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  though  I  don't  understand  why  you  ask  so 
obvious  a  question.  What  do  you  mean  ?  If 
instead  of  a  casual  study  they  give  serious  and 
thorough  study  to  their  material  it  stands  to  reason 
that  their  technique  is  more  perfect. 

PLAYGOER 

But  consider  the  performances  at  the  leading 
London  theatres,  for  example.  Is  there  no  technique 
shown  in  the  use  of  these  materials  there  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

If  this  were  so  I  should  not  have  said  no.  But  I 
will  give  you  an  instance  of  what  I  mean.  Take, 
for  example,  the  matter  of  scenic  mechanism. 

196 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

There  are  at  least  nine  or  ten  professional  ways 
of  bringing  a  moon  on  to  the  stage.  We  know 
how  the  company  of  actors  of  Messrs.  Bottom  and 
Quince  introduced  their  moon ;  we  know  how  the 
sumptuous  revival  gentlemen  manage  it  in  England ; 
we  know  how  the  opera  manages  it,  and  we  know 
how  Professor  Herkomer  manages  it.  All  these 
ways  differ  in  so  far  as  one  inventor  has  been  more 
careless  than  another  in  studying  the  exact  way 
in  which  the  moon  performs  its  part. 

Now,  after  the  ten  different  ways  have  been 
carefully  studied  by  the  workers  in  the  Constan 
Theatre  they  will  find  six  other  ways,  will  reject 
five  of  them  and  adopt  the  sixth,  which  will  be  the 
best.  And  this  sixth  way  will  far  exceed  all  other 
ways  seen  in  Europe.  I  mean,  of  course,  techni- 
cally, for  naturally  art  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
reproduction  of  moons  on  the  stage,  and  art  is 
not  what  we  are  talking  about  here.  But  in  every 
other  way  this  moon  will  be  more  like  actuality 
than  any  other  moon  which  the  theatre  of  Europe 
has  seen  for  centuries. 

PLAYGOER 

How  can  you  make  such  a  statement  ?  You  are 
not  even  half  a  century  old. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No ;  but  when  a  good  idea  has  been  found  in  the 
theatre,  especially  a  good  idea  for  reproducing  some 
effect  in  Nature,  it  is  never  forgotten.  Those  are 

197 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

the  things  by  which  the  greatest  store  is  laid. 
Remember,  I  am  not  holding  a  brief  for  the  Constan 
Theatre  in  any  way  except  in  the  production  of 
plays  in  which  they  desire  to  bring  realistic  effects, 
and  I  state  that  for  the  first  time  realistic  effects 
are  actually  produced,  that  there  is  no  slipshod  work 
and  no  avoiding  the  difficulty  by  doing  what  "  was 
done  last  time." 

PLAYGOER 

You  have  only  proved,  however,  that  they  have 
more  independence  and  are  freer  in  rejecting 
traditional  tricks ;  you  have  not  proved  to  me  that 
what  they  do  is  in  better  taste. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  I  can  but  tell  you  it  is  more  like  Nature. 
Would  you  say  that  to  be  like  Nature  is  in  better 
taste,  or  would  you  say  that  to  be  like  the  Theatre 
is  in  better  taste  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Certainly  to  be  like  Nature. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Very  well,  then,  your  question  is  answered. 

PLAYGOER 

But  how  do  the  workers  in  this  theatre  arrive 
at  this  technical  perfection  which  enables  them  to 
use  their  material  with  such  taste  ? 

198 


•&THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

How  do  you  arrive  at  a  technical  knowledge  of 
anything  ? 

PLAYGOER 

By  study,  of  course;  but  are  these  the  only 
theatrical  workers  in  all  Europe  who  do  study  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  think  we  are  speaking  of  technical  perfection  ? 
Well,  then,  you  did  not  ask  me  whether  they  had 
a  superficial  knowledge  of  their  craft.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  who  study,  but  who  study  badly. 
The  Constan  people  study  and  experiment  more 
carefully. 

PLAYGOER 

And  perhaps  they  have  more  talent  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Possibly.  And,  as  you  know,  talent  is  a  thing 
which  develops  by  study. 

PLAYGOER 

Have  they  anything  at  Constan  in  the  nature  of 
a  school  in  which  to  study  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  their  theatre  is  a  school.  They  are  in -the 
theatre  from  morning  till  night  all  the  year  round, 
save  for  a  few  weeks'  holiday  in  the  summer.  In 
England  you  can  go  into  a  theatre  on  many  days  in 
the  year  and  find  no  one  there  except  the  carpenters 

199 


o  T  H  E    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

and  the  stage-director  and  a  few  other  officials. 
In  Constan  the  place  is  crowded  all  day  and  night, 
and  if  there  is  a  rehearsal  the  students  are  there  to 
witness  it ;  and  not  giggling  and  playing  the  fool,  but 
watching  every  movement  and  listening  to  every 
word. 

PLAYGOER 

Whom  do  you  mean  by  the  students  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Everybody.  They  are  all  students.  There  are 
the  two  directors  to  begin  with  (the  third  director 
occupies  himself  only  with  affairs) ;  and  these  two 
directors  are  as  much  students  as  any  one  else  : 
they  are  studying  all  the  time.  Then  come  the 
leading  actors  and  actresses.  There  are  about 
twelve  of  these,  each  one  as  good  as  any  star  in 
Europe.  But  what  am  I  saying  ?  Each  one  is  a 
much  better  actor  or  actress  than  the  greatest  stars 
in  Europe.  Then  there  are  about  twenty-four 
actors  and  actresses  of  what  are  called  "  secondary 
parts."  Many  of  these  are  brilliant  enough  to  be 
included  in  the  first  category,  only  they  have  not 
served  their  apprenticeship  long  enough. 

PLAYGOER 

What  ?  If  an  actor  shows  especial  talent  is  he 
not  moved  up  to  the  first  rank  at  once  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,    certainly    not.     Not    until    he    has    gone 
200 


^   T  HE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

through  the  same  experience  as  the  others,  no 
matter  how  talented  he  may  be.  Then,  besides 
these  whom  I  have  named,  there  are  the  very 
young  students.  There  are  about  twenty  of  these. 
They  are  most  of  them  men  and  women  from  the 
universities;  and  the  girls  are  not  chosen  just 
because  they  look  pretty,  but.  with  the  men,  are 
selected  for  their  capabilities. 

PLAYGOER 
Is  this  not  so  in  other  lands  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Most  certainly  not.  Half  the  girls  on  the  English 
stage  are  chosen  because  they  look  pretty. 

PLAYGOER 

But  an  actress's  looks  are  surely  a  matter  of 
importance  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  of  great  importance,  and  should  form  part 
of  her  studies.  It  has  never  occurred  to  the  English 
actresses  that  it  is  a  part  of  their  work,  and  a  part 
which  needs  great  talent  and  application,  to  make 
themselves  look  nice.  Some  of  your  most  talented 
actresses  in  England  are  by  no  means  what  are 
called  pretty  girls.  That  is  to  say,  their  features 
are  far  from  perfect,  their  complexions  are  not  so 
fresh  as  that  of  an  Irish  girl  on  the  lakes,  but  they 
have  the  talent  by  which  they  can  make  themselves 

•201  ' 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

look  this,  or  that,  or  the  other.  Just  as  it  is  a  part 
of  the  actor's  talent  and  study  to  be  able  to  make 
his  face  into  a  grotesque  mask,  so  is  it  part  of  an 
actress's  talent  and  study  to  make  herself  look 
beautiful  when  she  wishes.  When  this  is  fully 
realized  young  ladies  will  cease  putting  their  looks 
forward  as  a  reason  for  obtaining  an  engagement, 
and  the  stage  will  be  less  overcrowded  and  better 
filled. 

But  now,  to  return  to  the  number  of  workers  at 
Constan.  We  had  got  as  far  as  the  students. 
Besides  and  below  these  are  the  probationers. 

PLAYGOER 
Who  are  they  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

They  are  young  people  who  apply  to  be  admitted 
to  the  theatre  as  students.  They  are  told  that  they 
must  work  for  a  certain  time — I  believe  one  or  two 
years — in  order  to  become  candidates  for  the  school. 
Then  after  an  examination  before  the  directors 
and  stage-managers  and  actors  some  of  them  are 
selected  and  put  into  the  school. 

PLAYGOER 
What  kind  of  examination  do  they  undergo  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Each  candidate  prepares  a  poem  and  a  fable  for 
recitation.     And  the  examination  of  the  candidates 
202 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

at  this  theatre  proves  conclusively  that  it  is  the 
directors  of  the  theatre,  and  not  the  Russians,  that 
are  so  remarkable;  for  these  candidates  are  no 
different  from  any  other  stage  aspirants  in  regard 
to  their  talent  for  dramatic  expression.  They  are 
different  from  other  students  only  in  that  they  are 
more  educated  than  other  theatrical  aspirants, 
many  of  them  having  a  considerable  knowledge  of 
literature,  foreign  languages,  art  and  science. 

On  passing  their  examination  they  are  put  into 
the  school,  in  which  they  work  daily  for  a  term  of 
years,  and  in  the  evenings  they  may  be  required 
to  fill  those  parts  known  as  "walking  on  parts." 
Thus,  while  they  are  studying  at  the  school  they 
are  in  the  midst  of  the  acting  nearly  every  evening, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  it  is  possible,  or  nearly 
certain,  that  they  may  be  offered  a  small  engagement 
by  the  theatre  in  which  they  are  working.  So  that 
here  we  have,  you  see,  a  standing  company  of  about 
one  hundred. 

PLAYGOER 
What  do  you  mean  by  a  standing  company  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
The  same  as  is  meant  by  a  standing  army. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  do  not  the  actors  leave  to  take  better 
engagements  ? 

203 


o   TH  E    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  for  there  can  be  no  better  engagement.  To 
be  a  member  of  the  Constan  Art  Theatre  is  the 
ambition  of  every  actor  in  Russia. 

PLAYGOER 

Would  a  very  talented  actor  from  another  theatre 
apply  for  membership  in  this  company  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Maybe;  but  it  would  take  him  some  time  to 
get  into  the  particular  atmosphere  which  has  been 
created  by  this  company,  and  in  order  to  do  this 
he  would  possibly  have  to  take  very  small  parts  to 
begin  with. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  the  work  there  differs  entirely  from  that 
in  other  theatres,  and  any  one  entering  would  feel 
very  much  at  sea  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Precisely. 

PLAYGOER 

Are  all  the  students  training  to  be  actors  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Yes. 

PLAYGOER 
Then,  they  do  not  train  stage-directors  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Before  you  can  be  a  stage-director  you  must  have 
204 


^>  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

first  been  an  actor.  Their  stage-directors  are  only 
produced  last  of  all.  After  they  have  been  several 
years  acting  it  may  be  that  one  or  another  will  show 
some  talent  as  stage-manager.  This  talent  is  given 
an  opportunity  for  showing  itself  and  developing 
itself  in  the  following  manner — 

At  the  end  of  each  season  the  school  performs 
certain  scenes  from  about  ten  or  twelve  different 
plays.  In  1909,  among  the  plays  which  the 
students  selected  were  the  following :  Elga  and 
Hannele  by  Hauptmann,  a  play  by  Sudermann, 
When  We  Dead  Awaken  by  Ibsen,  La  Locandiera 
by  Goldoni,  La  Cilia  Morta  by  D'Annunzio, 
L'Avare  by  Moliere,  and  about  three  or  four  plays 
by  Russian  authors. 

These  scenes  are  in  each  case  represented  by 
different  members  of  the  school,  and  a  different 
stage-manager  is  selected  for  each.  The  perform- 
ance takes  place  in  the  afternoon.  The  relations 
of  the  students  are  invited,  the  directors  of  the 
theatre,  together  with  the  company,  are  also  present, 
and  the  performance  affords  an  opportunity  of 
revealing  any  talent  for  stage-management  or  for 
acting  which  may  be  latent  in  the  students.  The 
talent  displayed  in  1909  was,  in  my  opinion,  nothing 
short  of  remarkable.  Each  stage-manager  has  at 
his  disposal  all  that  the  theatre  has  to  offer  him, 
though  of  course  it  is  impossible  to  paint  new 
scenes;  still,  he  can  show  his  talent  by  the  use  of 
what  is  at  hand. 

205 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 

You  spoke  to  me  once  long  ago  about  an  ideal 
stage-manager,  a  man  who  would  combine  all  the 
talents,  who  had  been  actor,  scene  and  costume 
designer;  who  understood  the  lighting  of  the  play, 
the  formation  of  dance,  and  the  sense  of  rhythms ; 
who  could  rehearse  the  actors  in  their  parts ;  who 
could,  in  short,  with  his  own  brain,  finish  that  work 
which  the  poet,  for  all  stage  purposes,  had  left  in 
an  unfinished  condition.  Do  you  find  any  such  in 
Constan  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  find  the  nearest  approach  to  such  a  man. 
There  is  very  little  that  the  rdgisseurs  there  cannot 

do. 

PLAYGOER 

There  are  many  people  who  would  say  that  after 
all  there  is  nothing  very  different  in  this  theatre 
from  other  theatres  except  the  difference  of  its 
greater  thoroughness. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Then,  now,  I  will  try  and  show  you  wherein  the 
essential  difference  really  lies.  I  have  been  able 
so  far  to  explain  to  you  something  of  the  system. 

1  have  tried  to  show  you  how  superior  the  Russian 
method  is  to  any  other,  but  I  still  do  not  expect 
you  to  understand  entirely  what  I  mean,  and  I 
admit  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  explain 
the  chief  reason  of  this  theatre's  superiority  till  you 

206 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

have  come  into  touch  with  the  men  who  have 
trained  in  the  theatre  and,  above  all,  with  the  man 
who  has  trained  them — the  director.  There  lies 
the  secret,  and  it  will  be  buried  with  him.  You 
would  understand  what  I  have  been  telling  you  if 
you  were  to  see  him,  but  even  then  you  still  could 
not  lay  his  secret  bare  to  any  practical  advantage. 

PLAYGOER 

Do  you  who  have  seen  him  understand  their 
secret  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  understand  it ;  but  I  could  not  make  any  one 
else  understand  it,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  one  of 
those  simple  things  which  no  amount  of  coaxing 
can  create,  and  no  amount  of  antagonism  can 
destroy,  and  no  amount  of  explanation  explain. 

PLAYGOER 
And  what  is  it  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Passionate  love  for  the  Theatre;  and  I  can  say  to 
you  without  any  fear  of  being  thought  profane : 
"  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  work." 

PLAYGOER 

But  do  they  not  love  the  stage  in  this  way  in  the 
other  theatres  ? 

207 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  they  do  not — they  do  not.  There  are  other 
things  for  which  they  would  far  sooner  give  their 
lives  before  their  work ;  for  social  success,  financial 
success.  They  are  only  willing  to  devote  their  lives 
if  they  can  get  either  of  these  things  in  exchange. 
In  Constan  they  have  but  one  desire — that  is,  to  do 
the  best  work.  Do  you  think  I  am  severe  upon  the 
other  theatres  ? 

I  am  not.  I  am  prepared  to  tell  any  theatre 
what  it  is  working  for  and  to  point  out  the  difference 
between  its  aim  and  that  of  the  Constan  Theatre. 

1  call  to  mind  the  best  theatres  in  Europe  and  I  see 
clearly  what  it  is  they  want.     It  is  quite  possible 
that  there  are  many  theatres  unknown  to  me,  and 
that  in  those  theatres  there  are  men  to  whom  I 
do  a  great  injustice  by  seeming  to  include  them  in 
this  accusation ;  but  I  speak  only  of  those  theatres 
known  to  me.     They  are  supposed  to  be  the  first 
theatres  in  Europe.     In  my  opinion  they  are  the 
very  last.     Yet  it  would  be  quite  possible  for  the 
other  theatres  to  be  as  good  as  the  Constan  Art 
Theatre,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  first  line,  by  merely 
being  possessed  of  the  same  passionate  love  for  the 
Theatre. 

And  now  to  tell  you  a  few  things  about  the 
Administration. 

PLAYGOER 

That  is  what  I  want  to  hear  about. 
208 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

To  begin  with,  the  administration  is  in  the  hands 
of  a  board  of  directors.  There  is  the  president, 
five  members  of  the  board,  and  the  secretary,  and 
five  out  of  these  seven  are  artists.  The  capital  is 
vested  in  a  stock  company  composed  of  merchants 
of  the  city  of  Constan,  and,  like  other  stock  com- 
panies, the  money  and  affairs  are  administered  by  a 
board  of  directors. 

PLAYGOER 
Then  so  far  it  does  not  differ  from  other  theatres  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No  ?  Is  it  usual  then  for  artists  to  be  in  the 
majority  on  the  board  of  directors  ?  I  think  you 
have  overlooked  this.  But  now  tell  me  something. 
I  am  a  man  entirely  innocent  of  business.  Sup- 
posing I  had  found  people  to  have  enough  faith  in 
me  to  put  down  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  establish 
an  Art  Theatre  in  England  what  would  be  the  feeling 
exhibited  on  the  last  day  of  the  year  when  the  report 
was  read  out  to  the  shareholders  showing  that  there 
was  not  a  penny  of  dividend  ? 

PLAYGOER 

The  shareholders  would  examine  the  books,  and, 
having  found  that  the  expenses  exceeded  the  in- 
come, they  would  probably  change  the  management, 
and  advise  the  production  of  more  popular  pieces, 
which  would  bring  more  money  into  the  box  office. 
P  209 


o   THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Why  would  they  do  this  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Because  they  put  their  money  into  the  theatre 
with  the  idea  of  making  more  by  it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Suppose  you  were  yourself  a  shareholder,  and  I 
were  to  point  out  to  you  that  this  thing  could  not 
possibly  pay  for  one,  two,  or  even  three  years,  what 
would  you  say,  knowing  that  there  had  been  a 
deficit  on  the  first  year  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  should  want  to  examine  the  situation  very 
thoroughly. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Oh,  then,  you  would  not  entirely  back  out  of  it  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  should  look  into  the  matter  thoroughly  first. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  should  take  it,  then,  that  you  had  become  a 
shareholder  because  you  were  interested  not  only  in 
the  making  of  money  but  in  the  work  itself  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes;  but  as  I  am  a  business  man  my  primary 
object  would  be  to  make  money. 

210 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Would  you  think  that  it  would  be  a  practical 
move  on  your  part  to  go  on  supporting  such  a 
theatre  if  it  paid  no  dividend  for  the  first  three, 
four,  or  five  years  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No,  I  should  not. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  then,  explain  to  me  as  a  business  man  how 
it  is  that  there  have  been  business  men  found  in  the 
town  of  Constan  who  are  content  to  wait  for  ten  years 
to  see  the  first  return  for  their  money  ? 

PLAYGOER 

It  is  inexplicable  to  me.  But  I  suppose  that  the 
making  of  money  must  to  them  have  been  a  secon- 
dary consideration  to  the  furthering  of  art.  And 
really,  if  I  were  an  extremely  wealthy  man  myself 
I  should  look  on  that  as  a  luxury  or  a  hobby,  and 
one  which  I  could  take  pride  in  being  connected 
with. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  you  told  me  you  were  losing  your  interest 
in  the  drama,  and  you  are  a  wealthy  man.  Here 
is  a  way  to  revive  your  interest.  Connect  yourself 
with  such  a  theatre.  You  will  remember  that  I 
told  you  a  little  time  ago  that  the  Theatre  needed 
you.  I  now  see  the  more  clearly  that  you  are  the 
very  man  it  needs.  But  first  of  all  let  us  see  whether, 

P2  211 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

should  you  take  such  a  charming  step,  you  might 
not  gain  in  every  way  without  losing  your  money. 
Let  us  return  to  the  theatre  at  Constan  and  see 
what  happened  there. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes.  But  tell  me  one  thing.  When  was  the 
first  dividend  declared  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
At  the  end  of  ten  years. 

PLAYGOER 

But  that  might  happen  in  any  theatre ;  it  sounds 
bad  business,  but  is  not  peculiar  to  any  particular 
enterprise. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes ;  but  the  fact  that  after  ten  years  we  find  the 
original  list  of  shareholders  unchanged,  and  not 
only  unchanged  but  increased,  is  rather  unusual,  is 
it  not  ?  and  certainly  most  encouraging.  Do  you 
not  find  it  so  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  both  encouraging  and  inspiring.  I  really 
do  think  that  what  you  tell  me  -is  quite  splendid. 
But  could  it  be  done  anywhere  else  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Have  you  any  good  reason  for  thinking  that  it 
could  not  be  done  ? 

212 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 

The  fact  that  like  propositions  have  failed  in 
England. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Has  the  test  ever  been  made  ? 
PLAYGOER 

Probably  not,  for  I  doubt  if  anybody  of  such  men 
as  you  describe  as  forming  the  Constan  stock 
company  could  be  found  in  England. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Then  hath  not  an  Englishman  eyes,  hath  not 
an  Englishman  hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses, 
passions,  affections  ?  Surely  you  must  be  wrong 
in  what  you  say  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  think  not ;   because  the  drama  in  England  and 
also  in  America  has  become  merely  another  com- 
mercial means  for  the  making  of  money. 
STAGE-DIRECTOR 

So  it  is  all  over  Russia — all  over  Europe.  But  if 
you  can  find  thirty  or  forty  such  men  in  Russia 
you  can  surely  find  thirty  or  forty  in  England. 
Besides,  think,  what  is  the  New  Theatre  in  New 
York  but  such  a  theatre  ?  Do  you  think  that  its 
founders  want  to  see  a  return  for  their  money  in 
the  first  two  years  ? 

PLAYGOER 

They  might  wait  for  two  or  three  years  before 
213 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

receiving  a  dividend,  but  they  are  not  likely  to 
wait  for  ten;  although  I  do  not  think  that  the 
making  of  money  is  their  primary  object. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  then,  why  do  you  think  these  millionaires 
have  put  their  money  into  this  theatre  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Because  I  think  they  have  been  brought  to  a 
realization  that  something  has  got  to  be  done  for 
the  drama  in  America,  and  being  men  in  a  leading 
position  they  feel  they  are  expected  to  do  it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  if  at  the  end  of,  let  us  say,  five  years,  the 
public  agrees  that  the  work  being  done  in  the 
theatre  is  perfect,  yet  the  directors  know  that  there 
has  been  no  profit,  will  they  continue  to  support  it, 
or  will  they  say  that  the  work  is  less  perfect  because 
the  theatre  has  failed  to  return  a  dividend  ? 

PLAYGOER 

If  they  realized  that  the  public  was  satisfied 
they  would  continue.  But  tell  me,  if  the  public 
was  satisfied  would  not  that  mean  that  the  theatre 
had  been  full  every  evening  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Not  exactly,  though  it  might  mean  that  it  had 
been  very  fairly  full  every  evening.  But  you  must 

214 


e>  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

not  forget  that  the  expenses  of  running  such  a 
theatre  are  very  great.  The  Constan  Art  Theatre, 
for  instance,  had  very  nearly  full  houses  for  nearly 
ten  years,  but  its  expenses  exceeded  its  income. 

PLAYGOER 
Do  you  not  call  that  bad  business  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  cannot  give  an  opinion  upon  business.  But 
let  me  put  it  to  you  more  clearly,  and  do  you  then 
decide.  This  Russian  theatre  has  had  full  houses, 
it  has  produced  plays  which  the  public  has  said 
are  perfect;  it  is  the  first  theatre  in  the  land;  it 
has  done  what  it  set  out  to  do.  Do  you  not  call 
that  good  business  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  I  do. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Would  you  call  it  good  business  to  have  built  up 
a  reputation  which  is  second  to  none  in  Europe  ? 
— to  be  able  to  command  a  vast  public  and  the 
enthusiastic  support  of  staunch  shareholders  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  I  suppose  I  should. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  would  agree  that  the  shareholders  have  in 
their  possession  something  by  means  of  which  they 
can  now  realize  what  money  they  like  ? 

215 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    *> 

PLAYGOER 
How  can  they  do  so  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

By  building  a  second  theatre,  a  large  theatre, 
and  by  touring  round  the  world. 

PLAYGOER 

Where  is  the  money  coming  from  when  you  say 
that  they  have  only  just  begun  to  realize  a  slight 
dividend  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  will  be  found.  When  you  ask  me  to  say  how, 
why  I  can  only  refer  you  to  the  work  of  the  last  ten 
years.  Nothing  daunted  the  workers  in  this  theatre, 
or  seemed  to  deter  them  from  doing  what  they 
wanted  to  do.  They  will  build  this  theatre,  they 
will  continue  to  give  the  public  the  best  works  in 
the  best  way,  and  they  will  set  an  example  to  the 
rest  of  Europe. 

PLAYGOER 

Rather  a  costly  example  ! 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Not  so  costly  when  you  think  of  it  for  a  moment. 
It  is  the  belief  in  Europe  that  the  Russians  are 
composed  of  people  less  interested  in  art  than  any 
one  else.  In  this  their  reputation  resembles  that 
of  the  English.  There  is  a  general  idea  also  that 
they  are  a  kind  of  savage  race,  and  by  making  this 

216 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    ^ 

demonstration  through  the  artistic  theatre  they 
have  shown  clearly  that  they  are  nothing  of  the 
kind.  In  a  way  this  is  really  a  national  theatre  in 
the  best  sense  of  the  word,  for  the  shareholders 
have  the  interests  of  their  nation  at  heart.  This 
theatre,  as  I  have  said,  will  no  doubt  visit  the 
centres  of  Europe,  and  at  each  visit  the  refinement 
and  culture  and  courage  of  Russia  will  be  made 
manifest.  In  short,  it  is  a  very  clever  commercial 
stroke  on  a  very  large  scale,  and  English  men  could 
do  worse  than  follow  their  lead.  Money  that  has 
been  sunk  in  this  theatre  is  not  wasted  money,  and 
we  shall  shortly  see  the  fruits  of  it.  Don't  you 
think  that  is  so  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  I  think  so;  but  looking  at  it  in  that  light, 
it  takes  it  right  away  from  the  commercial  theatre. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Why,  of  course  it  does.  I  was  speaking  of  the 
theatre  as  an  asset  of  the  nation. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes?  Well,  we  are  going  to  have  a  National 
Theatre  in  England. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Not  at  all.  We  are  going  to  have  a  Society 
Theatre.  That  in  my  opinion  is  very  much  what 
the  New  Theatre  in  America  is — a  society  theatre. 
Now  nobody  wants  a  society  theatre,  least  of  all 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are  obliged  to  go  and 

217 


e>  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

sit  in  their  boxes  and  stalls  while  they  are  bored  to 
death  by  the  dull  performances  which  take  place 
on  the  stage.  Such  society  theatres  bore  and 
impoverish  every  city  of  Europe.  There  is  the 
Ope'ra  in  Paris,  the  Schauspielhaus  in  Berlin, 
in  Munich,  in  Vienna.  They  are  not  national 
Theatres  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word.  The 
men  who  will  make  a  national  theatre  in 
England  are  the  same  kind  of  men  as  those  who 
have  made  this  theatre  in  Russia.  If  they  are 
to  be  expensive  they  must  not  be  a  bore,  these 
theatres.  The  proposed  "  national  "  theatre  for 
London  is  national  in  name  only.  It  has  no 
programme,  and  yet  it  asks  for  subscriptions  on  the 
strength  of  one.  The  committee  may  force  sub- 
scriptions, but  no  amount  of  forcing  can  raise  the 
wits — and  it  is  wits  and  taste  that  we  want  in  our 
Theatre.  Now  the  Russians  commence  founding 
their  national  theatre  by  first  founding  an  artistic 
theatre  and  testing  its  honesty  of  purpose  for  ten 
years.  Which  of  these  strikes  you  as  the  better 
method  of  obtaining  a  finely  organized  national 
theatre — the  English  or  the  Russian  ?  Which  is 
the  most  economic,  the  most  regular  ?  Which  seems 
to  you  the  Tightest  ?  In  short,  if  you  had  a  theatre 
which  method  would  you  yourself  employ  ? 

PLAYGOER 

The  Russian  method — if  I  had  the  type  of  men 
and  the  same  point  of  view. 

218 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Their  point  of  view  differs  very  slightly  from  that 
of  any  of  the  English  managements,  for  we  must 
believe  the  English  managers  when  they  assure  us 
that  their  aim  is  to  do  the  best  possible  work. 
Perhaps  the  men  are  of  a  different  strain.  But 
you  could  find  as  clever  and  as  enthusiastic  fellows 
over  here,  and  if  there  is  less  sympathetic  under- 
standing of  each  other's  wishes  there  is  more  sense 
of  discipline  in  Englishmen. 

PLAYGOER 

Then  a  theatre  such  as  the  Constan  Art  Theatre 
could  be  founded  here  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
A  theatre,  yes ;  and  two  or  three  such  theatres. 

PLAYGOER 
That  would  indeed  be  an  excellent  thing. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  is  it  not  practical  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  should  say  absolutely  practical. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Ah,  how  quick  you  are  to  see  it  and  to  acquiesce 
now  that  it  has  been  DONE  !  If  I  were  to  say  that 
what  I  had  been  telling  you  was  but  an  idea  of 

219 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

mine,  which  I  believed  in  entirely,  would  that  con- 
vince you  as  to  its  practicality  ?  You  are  one  of 
the  dearest  good  fellows,  but,  by  Jove,  when  you 
are  asked  to  believe  in  that  which  does  not  yet 
exist  you  are  as  coy  about  the  whole  thing  as  though 
you  were  a  woman. 

The  Constan  Art  Theatre  has  been  in  existence 
for  over  ten  years,  so  you  believe  in  it  and  cry  out 
that  it  is  "absolutely  practical." 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  but  isn't  it  ?  And  how  can  you  ask  any  one 
in  his  senses  to  believe  in  a  scheme  which  has  not 
been  tried  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Caution  is  never  bad  :  it  is  the  English  habit 
of  being  over-cautious  that  blights  so  many,  many 
spirited  ideas  which  only  need  the  right  support 
to  bring  them  into  the  plane  of  actuality.  And  it 
is  not  only  in  withholding  monetary  support  that 
Englishmen  are  over-cautious  :  it  is  their  moral 
support  which  is  so  often  absent,  which  implies 
that  in  such  matters  they  are  sometimes  very  much 
lacking  in  moral  courage. 

And  now  tell  me  again.  Do  you  find  the  Russian 
method  perfectly  practical  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  I  think  it  is  perfectly  practical. 
220 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  if  I  should  say  that  though  it  is  a  very  practi- 
cal method  of  carrying  on  a  modern  theatre,  which 
has  to  open  its  doors  to  the  public  night  after 
night,  there  is  even  a  more  practical  method  of 
pursuing  the  study  of  the  Art  of  the  Theatre, 
what  would  you  say  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  should  say But  explain  more  fully  what 

you  mean. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  mean  this :  the  object  of  all  Ideal  Theatres — and 
their  directors — is  to  excel  in  the  art  which  it  is 
their  privilege  to  serve.  They  must  be  unceasing 
in  the  pursuit  of  the  ideal,  they  must  ever  aim  to 
go  beyond,  and  therefore  they  must  be  very,  very 
far-sighted.  Am  I  right  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  suppose  you  are.  Are  the  directors  at  Constan 
not  far-sighted  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  far-sighted  where  their  theatre  is  concerned, 
less  so  where  the  art  is  concerned.  They  have  to 
keep  their  theatre  open  night  after  night ;  it  is  one 
of  the  difficulties  with  which  they  are  always  con- 
tending. If  they  could  close  their  theatre  for  five 
years  and  spend  that  time  in  making  nothing  but 

221 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

experiments  they  would  have  more  time  for  the 
pursuit  of  the  Ideal,  which  we  have  put  down  as 
being  the  object  of  all  ideal  theatres. 

PLAYGOER 

To  close  such  a  theatre  for  five  years  would  be 
a  very  serious  step  to  take. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  serious;  just  so  serious  as  the  occasion 
demands.  Most  theatres  in  Europe  might  be 
closed  indefinitely  all  the  year  round  for  fifty  years 
and  make  experiments  all  the  time  without  any 
valuable  results,  but  this  theatre  in  Constan  is  the 
exception,  and  it  might  just  discover  the  heart  of 
the  mystery  by  so  doing.  And  I  think  we  should 
be  just  so  far-sighted  as  to  see  how  serious  is  the 
present  position  of  the  Theatre. 

PLAYGOER 

But  no  one  can  see  farther  than  the  vanishing 
point  at  any  time,  and  I  presume  that  point  to  be 
the  limit  which  you  set  to  the  sight  of  any  director 
— it  is  the  farthest  he  can  see. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Perfectly  correct;  but  remember  with  each  ad- 
vancing step  the  position  of  the  vanishing  point 
alters,  and  we  are  thus  enabled  continually  to  see 

farther  than  before. 

222 


^  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 
That  is  true. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Therefore  an  art  director  of  a  theatre  who 
strives  to  surpass  his  last  achievement  will  keep  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  this  vanishing  point  on  the  horizon, 
and  will  thereby  be  enabled  continually  to  achieve 
his  ever-fixed  but  ever-changing  desire  to  advance, 
no  matter  how  slowly  he  may  do  so.  Do  you  agree 
with  me  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  do. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
What,  then,  is  practical  to  him  ? 

PLAYGOER 
All  that  lies  before  him  and  all  that  he  can  see. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  if  he  advance  five  steps  he  will  see  less  than 
should  he  advance  a  hundred  steps  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  certainly — twenty  times  less. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  if  he  advance  five  hundred  steps  he  will  see 
a  hundred  times  more  than  if  he  advance  but  five 
steps  ? 

223 


PLAYGOER 
Yes;  there  is  no  doubt  about  it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  he  will  therefore  be  able  to  achieve  a  hundred 
degrees  more  than  by  advancing  five  steps  and 
seeing  five  degrees  farther  ? 

PLAYGOER 
That  is  true. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Then,  practically  speaking,  there  is  no  limit  to 
his  achievements  provided  he  can  only  see  far 
enough  ahead ;  and  in  order  to  see  very  far  he  must 
have  advanced  almost  as  far  as  he  can  see.  They 
say  that  art  is  long  and  life  is  short.  Do  you 
believe,  then,  that  there  is  much  time  to  spare  in 
delays,  or  would  you  advise  those  who  are  searching 
forwards  to  advance  without  hesitation  ? 

PLAYGOER 
The  latter,  but  with  caution. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  with  caution  and  deliberation ;  but  you  will 
remember  that  we  proved  that  it  was  entirely  safe 
for  a  man  to  advance  provided  he  went  towards 
that  which  was  visible  to  him.  Now  we  must  see 
which  is  the  best  method  of  reaching  a  spot  which 
is  visible  to  us.  Do  you  think  it  is  by  going 
backwards  ? 

224 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET 
ACT  I.   SCENE  V. 

This  design  depends  much  on  its  colour  to  express  the  exact 
feeling  1  wished  to  convey.  So  think  of  it  as  bathed  in  a  warm 
yellow  light — the  only  other  colour  being  the  touches  of  green  in  the 
dresses  of  the  Italian  gentlemen  who  are  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
their  guests.  The  large  seat  is  silvery  white — upon  this  the  two 
lovers  are  soon  to  find  themselves  seated  side  by  side. 


\Fttft  pate  224. 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 
Certainly  not.     How  could  it  be  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Or  by  going  sideways,  perhaps  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No,  of  course  not. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Or  moving  in  a  circle,  for  caution's  sake  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No.     None  of  these  ways  would  serve. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Why  not  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Why,  they  would  be  absurd.  When  you  have 
seen  something  the  best  way  to  reach  it  is  to  go 
straight  towards  it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Has  this  method  ever  been  put  into  practice 
with  success  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes ;  nearly  always. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

In  a  hundred  cases  how  often  would  you  say  it 
has  been  successful  ? 

Q  225 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    *> 

PLAYGOER 
I  should  say  in  ninety  cases  out  of  a  hundred. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  should  think  you  are  right,  and  should  myself 
be  inclined  to  say  that  a  man  can  reach  that  which 
he  can  see  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  by 
going  straight  towards  the  object.  The  hundredth 
time  I  waive  the  right  as  acknowledgment  to  the 
Goddess  Fortuna.  It  is  also  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  by  doing  so  he  will,  as  we  have  said,  save  much 
time. 

PLAYGOER 

That  is  also  true;  but  may  I  beg  you  to  tell  me 
what  this  has  to  do  with  the  Theatre  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  must  ask  you  to  follow  me  back  to  that  point, 
the  Theatre,  a  point  which  you  have  perceived,  in 
a  straight  line  and  without  any  delay.  Will  you 
tell  me  whether  the  eyes  are  generally  used  for 
seeing  with  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Why,  yes ;  of  course  they  are. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  would  you  say  that,  in  order  to  see,  it  is  more 
practical  to  open  the  eyes  than  to  close  them  ? 

PLAYGOER 

The  former  seems  to  be  more  sensible. 
226 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  do  not  answer  my  question.  Is  it  also 
practical  ? 

PLAYGOER 
It  is. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  would  you  say  that  to  look  in  the  direction 
where  you  have  seen  something  a  while  ago  is  to 
stand  a  good  chance  of  seeing  it  again  ?  Would  you 
say  that  it  is  practical  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  should. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  on  arriving  at  the  spot  seen,  and  seeing 
farther  on  a  second  spot,  would  it  be  practical  to 
advance  farther  in  the  same  direction,  so  as  to 
reach  it  ? 

PLAYGOER 
It  would. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  well,  then ;  you  have  told  me  what  I  always 
suspected  to  be  the  truth.  You  have  said  that  an 
artist  with  imagination  is  justified,  and  entirely 
practical,  in  advancing  towards  that  which  he  has 
once  seen  in  his  imagination.  Therefore,  my  dear 
fellow,  you  have  only  now  to  tell  me  one  thing 
more. 

PLAYGOER 
What  is  that  ? 

Q  2  227 


o   THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  must  tell  me  whether  it  is  possible  for  all 
people  to  see  the  same  thing. 

PLAYGOER 
It  is  very  unlikely. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Therefore  if  I  have  seen  something  it  is  quite 
possible  that  there  are  many  people  who  have  not 
seen  the  same  thing ;  and  if  it  has  interested  me  it 
is  quite  likely  that  others  will  be  curious  to  see  it 

also  ? 

PLAYGOER 

It  generally  is  so  with  people. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
You,  for  instance  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Do  you  think  I  may  be  allowed  to  show  it  to  you 
if  I  am  able  to  do  so  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Certainly  you  may. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

If  I  do  not  show  it  to  you  you  may  never  see  it, 
so  practically  speaking,  until  I  show  you,  it  may  be 

said  to  belong  to  me  ? 

228 


^THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 
We  may  admit  so  much. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  belongs  to  me,  then;  and  as  it  is  not  likely 
that  I  should  desire  to  show  you  something  which 
belongs  to  me  in  a  damaged  condition  I  must  be 
very  careful  of  the  method  I  employ  to  transfer 
it  from  its  situation  to  your  presence.  I  must  be 
practical  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  your  method  must  be  essentially  practical 
if  you  wish  to  avoid  all  accidents. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  by  practical  you  mean — what  ? 

PLAYGOER 

The  meaning  of  the  word  practical  is  that  which 
is  possible  of  accomplishment. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  are  right.  And  is  there  but  one  way  of 
accomplishing  everything  ? 

PLAYGOER 

No,  there  is  generally  more  than  one  way.  Why- 
do  you  ask  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  must  forgive  me  for  the  assumption,  but 
my  intention  was  to  ascertain  whether  you  con- 

229 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

fused  the  phrase  the  "  practical  way  "  with  another 
phrase,  the  "  usual  way,"  or  with  a  third,  the 
"  matter-of-fact  way." 

PLAYGOER 
Most  certainly  not. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Again  forgive  me ;  but  to  confuse  the  meaning  of 
the  word  "practical "  has  become  so  usual  lately, 
especially  when  speaking  of  the  Theatre.  Let  us 
proceed  :  I  was  saying  that  if  I  had  something 
which  belonged  to  me  and  wanted  to  show  it  to 
you  I  must  take  great  care,  if  I  wished  to  bring  it 
to  you  without  in  any  way  damaging  it. 

PLAYGOER 
Yes. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Of  course  we  admit  the  supposition  that  I  cannot 
take  you  to  see  it,  and  there  are  some  things  which 
are  so  situated.  The  North  Pole,  for  instance ;  or 
an  idea — and  to  all  intents  and  purposes  the 
North  Pole  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  idea. 
If  I  tell  you,  for  instance,  that  I  have  seen  the 
North  Pole  you  are  no  more  enlightened  than  if 
I  told  you  I  had  seen  Heaven. 

PLAYGOER 
True. 

230 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Whereas  if  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  a  church-steeple 
you  have  something  familiar  to  go  upon  from 
which  you  can  construct  an  actuality.  The  North 
Pole,  or  an  idea,  is  something  to  which  I  cannot 
take  you  without  considerable  exertion  on  your  part 
as  well  as  my  own;  but  I  can  convey  an  idea  to 
you  or  a  proof  that  the  North  Pole  exists  at  a 
certain  spot  on  the  globe.  But,  as  we  agreed,  it 
must  be  brought  to  you  with  great  care.  For 
instance,  my  proof  of  the  existence  of  the  North 
Pole  must  be  made  quite  clear  to  you,  and  though 
this  will  give  you  no  exertion  whatever,  it  will 
give  me  exactly  double  as  much  as  if  you  had  gone 
with  me  to  search  for  those  proofs. 

PLAYGOER 
How  is  that  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  will  remember  that  we  agreed  that  the  mere 
telling  you  I  have  seen  the  North  Pole  is  not  suffi- 
cient proof  that  I  speak  the  truth,  whereas  the  mere 
telling  you  that  I  have  seen  a  church-steeple  is 
enough.1  Now,  what  would  be  enough  to  prove 
to  you  I  had  seen  the  North  Pole  ? 

1  To  demand  proof  of  all  things  great  and  small  is  always  the 
sign  of  the  little  mind.     Hut  to  demand  proof  of  great  things 
only  and  to  accept  the  little  is  a  sign  of  the  smallest  intellect. 
If  demonstration  is  at  all  valuable  it  is  entirely  valuable.     Is 
proof  valueless?    The  question  has  never  been  answered. 

231 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 

You  would  have  to  prove  before  a  group  of 
experts  and  scientists  by  means  of  certain  obser- 
vations, etc. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Would  that  prove  the  truth  of  my  statement  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  suppose  so ;  it  is  the  test  they  go  upon. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  you,  could  I  not  prove  it  to  you  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  no ;  you  see  I  should  not  be  able  to  under- 
stand you;  my  only  chance  of  being  in  sympathy 
with  your  tale  would  be  to  trust  in  the  experts 
before  whom  you  had  laid  your  proofs. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

But  would  my  tale  have  any  interest  for  you  ? 
could  you  have  sympathy  with  what  you  could 
not  understand  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Oh  yes;  yet  it  seems  strange  on  thinking  about 
it. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Not  so  strange,  and  yet  stranger  than  you 
suppose.  The  strangest  part  of  it  all  is  that  man 

should  be  so  lacking  in  natural  instinct  and  moral 

232 


^  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

courage.  If  we  had  preserved  both,  we  would  not 
ask  for  those  actual  proofs  and  we  would  believe 
and  understand  great  truths  the  more  easily. 
Anyhow,  it  is  amusing  as  it  is.  Where  we  do  not 
understand  or  believe,  we  become  the  children  of 
those  who  can  both  believe  and  understand — that 
is  as  it  should  be,  being  as  it  is. 

PLAYGOER 
May  I  ask  you 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

But  come,  let  us  get  on.  To  believe  in  the  idea 
which  I  bring  you  (this  North  Pole  idea)  you  will 
rely  upon  the  judgment  of  the  wise  men  before 
whom  I  lay  the  proofs. 

Those  proofs  are  our  little  difficulty.  In  order 
to  take  observations  and  soundings,  in  order  to 
bring  back  minerals,  certain  birds,  plants,  and 
such-like  things  which  will  prove  my  story  I  shall 
have  to  be  very  careful,  very  well  equipped  and 
well  assisted.  To  travel  into  the  unknown  is  to 
court  disaster,  and  few  set  out  without  carefully 
organizing  their  equipment.  Therefore  ship,  crew, 
instruments,  all  these  things  are  selected  only  after 
the  most  cautious  consideration.  Neither  too 
much  nor  too  little  of  anything  must  be  taken. 
On  such  a  journey  through  an  unknown  land, 
and  one  in  which  so-called  natural  conditions  so 
powerfully  play  the  part  of  enemy,  where  Nature 
seems  to  defy  one  to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  her 

233 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

mystery,  everything  must  be  done  to  anticipate 
all  emergencies. 

Even  when  we  have  prepared  everything  with 
the  greatest  care  accidents  will  still  threaten  the 
safety  of  our  expedition. 

We  shall  need  enough  of  every  tiling  and  not  too 
much;  therefore  it  is  not  a  matter  of  money — 
although  enough  money  is  certainly  necessary. 

PLAYGOER 
But  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  Theatre  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Patience  for  a  little  and  you  will  see. 

We  make  these  provisions  after  we  have  made  our 
plan.  That  is  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  work, 
for  once  made  we  must  follow  it  to  the  end,  while 
at  the  same  time  seizing  the  fresh  opportunities  as 
they  present  themselves. 

Now  that  we  are  ready  to  start,  consider  for  one 
instant  what  it  is  we  are  setting  out  to  do.  We 
are  about  to  make  a  dangerous  and  very  difficult 
expedition  into  the  unknown  to  bring  you  back  a 
few  visible  proofs  of  the  known.  We  are  not  to 
bring  back  the  idea  itself,  but  only  its  fringe ;  for 
to  return  from  the  unknown  with  the  idea  itself 
would  certainly  make  you  think  we  were  mad, 
whereas  to  bring  back  hints  of  the  idea  satisfies 
you  as  to  our  sanity. 

234 


o  T II E    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 
What  a  strange  paradox  ! 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  let  us  accept  it ;  you  want  the  pretty  little 
fringe ;  you  shall  have  it,  although  it  is  that  fringe 
that  costs  so  much  to  obtain  which  presents  the 
whole  difficulty.  And  now  for  the  Theatre.  But 
first  a  request. 

PLAYGOER 
What  is  it  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  asked  me  not  to  speak  any  more  about 
temples  or  about  the  Art  of  the  Theatre  which  I 
once  told  you  was  lost;  which  a  beautiful  poet 
well  described  to  me  as  having  "  lain  hid  under  the 
roots  of  the  Pyramids  for  two  thousand  years,  so 
solemn  it  is."  Give  me  leave  to  speak  again|of 
this. 

PLAYGOER 

Will  you  speak  to  some  practical  purpose  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Only  so. 

PLAYGOER 

You  will  not  merely  tell  me  what  this  art  once 
meant  to  us,  and  what  it  should  mean  again,  but 
you  will  show  me  a  practical  way  of  bringing  it  to 

us  once  more  ? 

235 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
That  is  my  intention. 

PLAYGOER 

You  will  not  propose  to  destroy  all  the  present 
theatres  of  the  world  in  order  to  do  this,  for  then 

1  should  not  listen  to  you,  for  it  would  be  no  longer 
a  practical  proposition. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No,  I  will  not  do  so.  How  delighted  I  am  to 
hear  you  express  the  wish  that  the  present  theatres 
shall  in  no  way  be  injured  !  It  shows  me  that 
your  interest  in  them  is  reviving  and  that  I  have 
already  nearly  cured  you.  Remember,  the  Gaiety, 
8  o'clock  ! 

PLAYGOER 

I  have  not  forgotten.  But  now  your  practical 
plan? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

My  proposal  is  to  discover  or  rediscover  the  lost 
Art  of  the  Theatre  by  a  practical  expedition, 
carried  out  swiftly  and  without  unnecessary  ex- 
pense, into  the  realms  where  it  lies  hidden. 

PLAYGOER 
A  good  intention.     And  your  method  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  very  simplest.     It  is  based  upon  the  methods 
236 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

employed  by  Arctic  explorers.  The  discovery  of 
this  art  is  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  discovery 
of  the  North  Pole. 

Both  are  situated  in  the  same  position,  in  the 
unknown.  We  possess  clues  as  to  the  whereabouts 
of  both ;  both  are  shrouded  in  much  mystery,  both 
realms  are  themselves,  by  all  reports,  the  very  home 
of  mystery  and  beauty. 

In  preparing  for  our  first  expedition  (for  we 
expect  to  make  several)  we  shall  follow  the  method 
employed  by  Nansen.  First  we  shall  take  time — 
we  shall  take  three  or  four  years  to  make  our 
preparations,  and  the  scheme  itself  has  already 
been  in  preparation  for  over  six  years. 

So  it  was  with  Nansen's  project. 

Let  me  read  you  an  extract  from  his  Farthest 
North,  which  I  have  just  been  reading,  relating  to 
the  plans  and  preparations  for  his  expedition  in 
1893: 

"  If  we  turn  our  attention  to  the  long  list  of 
former  expeditions  and  to  their  equipments,  it 
cannot  but  strike  us  that  scarcely  a  single  vessel 
has  been  built  specially  for  the  purpose — in  fact, 
the  majority  of  explorers  have  not  even  provided 
themselves  with  vessels  which  were  originally  in- 
tended for  ice  navigation. 

"  This  is  the  more  surprising  when  we  remember 
the  sums  of  money  that  have  been  lavished  on  the 
equipment  of  some  of  these  expeditions.  The  fact 
is,  they  have  generally  been  in  such  a  hurry  to  set 

237 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    ^> 

out  that  there  has  been  no  time  to  devote  to  a  more 
careful  equipment.  In  many  cases,  indeed,  pre- 
parations were  not  begun  until  a  few  months  before 
the  expedition  sailed.  The  present  expedition, 
however,  could  not  be  equipped  in  so  short  a  time, 
and  if  the  voyage  itself  took  three  years  the  pre- 
parations took  no  less  time,  while  the  scheme  was 
conceived  thrice  three  years  earlier. 

"  Plan  after  plan  did  Archer  make  of  the  pro- 
jected ship ;  one  model  after  another  was  prepared 
and  abandoned. 

"  Fresh  improvements  were  constantly  being 
suggested.  The  form  we  finally  adhered  to  may 
seem  to  many  people  by  no  means  beautiful,  but 
that  it  is  well  adapted  to  the  ends  in  view  I  think 
our  expedition  has  fully  proved." 

Here  you  see  what  long  and  careful  preparation 
was  made  before  the  setting  out  of  the  expedition. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  and  also  much  money  was  needed,  as  I 
suppose  it  will  be  for  your  scheme  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Certainly  we  shall  need  support,  financial  as  well 
as  moral,  and  we  shall  get  it. 

PLAYGOER 

How  do  you  know  this  ? 
238 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Patience  a  little;  I  shall  come  to  the  matter  of 
expense  in  due  time.  When  we  have  our  scheme 
well  supported — and  £5000  a  year  guaranteed  for 
five  years  will  be  all  we  shall  require — we  shall  put 
the  following  plan  into  action. 

We  shall  build  and  equip  a  college,  furnishing 
it  with  what  is  necessary. 

It  will  have  to  contain  two  theatres,  one  open- 
air  and  one  roofed-in.  These  two  stages,  closed 
and  open,  are  necessary  for  our  experiments,  and 
on  one  or  on  the  other,  sometimes  on  both,  every 
theory  shall  be  tested  and  records  made  of  the 
results. 

These  records  will  be  written,  drawn,  photo- 
graphed or  registered  on  the  cinematograph  or 
gramophone  for  future  reference,  but  they  will 
not  be  made  public  and  will  be  only  for  the  use  of 
members  of  the  college. 

Other  instruments  for  the  study  of  natural 
sound  and  light  will  be  purchased,  together  with 
the  instruments  for  producing  these  artificially, 
and  will  lead  us  to  the  better  knowledge  of  both 
sound  and  light,  and  also  to  the  invention  of  yet 
better  instruments  through  which  the  purer  beauty 
of  both  sound  and  light  may  be  passed. 

In  addition,  instruments  will  be  purchased  for 
the  study  of  motion,  and  some  will  be  especially 
invented  for  this  purpose. 

To  this  equipment  we  shall  add  a  printing-press, 
239 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

all  kinds  of  carpenters'  tools,  a  well-stocked  library, 
and  all  things  pertaining  to  modern  theatres. 
With  these  materials  and  instruments  we  shall 
pursue  the  study  of  the  Stage  as  it  is  to-day  with 
the  intention  of  finding  out  those  weaknesses 
which  have  brought  it  to  its  present  unfortunate 
condition.  We  shall,  in  short,  experiment  upon 
the  body  of  the  modern  theatre  in  our  roofed-in 
theatre  (for  you  will  remember  we  have  two), 
exactly  in  the  same  way  as  surgeons  and  their 
pupils  experiment  upon  the  bodies  of  dead  men  and 
animals. 

In  selecting  its  method  of  administration  the 
college  will  follow  the  ancient  precedent  of  Nature. 
It  will  consist  of  a  head,  a  body  and  its  members, 
the  leader  being  selected  by  election.  Those  who 
are  to  compose  the  executive  body  are  less  difficult  to 
decide  on,  as  their  task  is  undoubtedly  less  difficult. 

In  all  there  will  not  be  more  than  thirty  men  in 
the  college.  There  will  be  no  women. 

So  now,  are  you  clear  as  to  these  two  points  ? 
First,  that  we  shall  have  a  college  of  experiment 
in  which  to  study  the  three  natural  sources  of  art — 
Sound,  Light  and  Motion — or,  as  I  have  spoken  of 
them  elsewhere,  voice,  scene  and  action. 

Secondly,  that  we  shall  number  in  all  thirty 
working-men,  who  shall  singly  and  together  pursue 
the  study  of  the  three  subjects  named  and  the 
other  experiments  to  test  the  principles  of  the 
modern  theatre.  Is  that  clear  to  you  ? 

240 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

PLAYGOER 

It  is.     But  how  does  your  actual  work  resemble 
that  of  an  Arctic  explorer  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

In  this  way.  We  shall  have  to  select  a  centre 
from  which  search-parties  shall  be  sent  in  different 
directions,  our  object  being  to  explore  within 
reason  any  part  of  the  theatrical  world  which  is 
unknown  to  us.  We  shall  at  the  same  time  go 
over  much  old  ground  in  the  belief  that  it  has  never 
been  thoroughly  examined.  No  great  hopes  are 
entertained  of  finding  there  anything  of  great  value, 
but  an  examination  is  necessary.  As  soon  as  pos- 
sible we  shall  push  forward  in  the  direction  of  the 
unknown.  Just  as  search-parties  are  sent  in  a 
certain  direction  with  instructions  to  sound  and 
make  observations  and  then  to  return  to  the  point 
selected  as  a  base,  so  will  our  investigators  push  for- 
ward their  studies  into  certain  regions  from  which, 
when  they  have  fully  explored  them  and  collected 
sufficient  evidence,  they  will  return  to  the  point 
where  they  had  separated  from  us  to  make  known 
the  result  of  their  observations. 

If  this  work  proceed  as  rapidly  as  we  hope,  we  shall 
advance  to  a  new  position  at  which  to  establish 
our  base  within  the  first  year.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  may  prove  to  be  more  difficult,  in  which  case  we 
shall  have  to  stay  where  we  are. 
R  241 


*>THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

Above  all  I  wish  to  emphasize  this  point :  that 
no  change  of  base  shall  ever  be  made  until  every 
one  is  fully  assured  of  the  practicality  of  the  next 
position. 

You  will  understand  that  our  reason  for  pushing 
forward  our  base  is  to  facilitate  communication  in 
the  event  of  our  search-parties  pushing  far  into  the 
unknown.  By  this  method,  and  with  sufficient 
supplies,  we  can  make  attempt  on  attempt  to 
compass  our  end.  It  is  the  only  method  which 
suggests  itself  to  me,  and  I  cannot  think  of  a 
more  practical  one,  for  you  must  remember  that 
acting  on  such  a  plan  guarantees  continual  suc- 
cess of  one  kind  or  another.  Call  to  mind  how 
many  important  observations  and  records  were 
made,  not  only  by  those  who  went  farthest 
north,  but  by  those  who  searched  even  in  those 
latitudes  into  which  many  men  had  travelled 
before. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  our  books  will  hold  the 
records  of  things  hitherto  undiscovered,  dates  and 
results  of  experiments  of  incalculable  value — not 
only  to  us  in  our  future  efforts,  but  to  those  who 
shall  resume  the  search  when  we  may  be  obliged 
to  abandon  it. 


PLAYGOER 

Then  you  think  it  likely  your  efforts  will  not 
meet  with  all  the  success  you  could  desire  ? 

242 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

On  the  contrary — I  think  we  can  be  sure  of  ex- 
ceptional success;  as  to  any  final  success,  it  is  a 
rare  thing  to  achieve,  for  finality  is  something 
which  probably  does  not  exist.  Now  tell  me,  does 
my  plan  and  its  method  of  execution  appeal  to 
you  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I 

Let  me  try  to  say  what  I  think.  The  plan  is  an 
ideal  one,  and,  as  your  quest  is  ideal,  is  in  harmony 
with  that  for  which  you  search.  But  will  you  find 
support  ?  Will  you,  to  begin  with,  find  the  sup- 
port of  the  leaders  of  the  Theatrical  Profession  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Whom  do  you  mean  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  to  be  outspoken,  Sir  Herbert  Tree,  Sir 
Charles  Wyndham,  Arthur  Bourchier,  Weedon 
Grossmith,  Cyril  Maude 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
The  actor-managers,  you  mean  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  but  I  had  not  finished  my  list  of  names, 
which  includes  not  only  all  those  connected  with 
the  arts  in  England  and  even  some  of  those  con- 
R  2  243 


&THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    ^> 

nected  with  the  State,  but  also  certain  names  of 
artists  abroad.  For  instance,  will  the  Theatre  in 
Europe  support  you — the  French  theatre,  either 
the  Comedie  Fran9aise  or  one  of  the  smaller  re- 
presentative theatres  such  as  those  directed  by 
Bernhardt  or  Antoine  ?  Will  the  German  theatre 
give  you  any  support?  The  State  theatres,  or 
Reinhardt,  for  instance,  or  the  Munchen  Art 
Theatre  ?  Holland — what  can  Holland  do  ?  and 
Sweden,  Russia  or  Italy  ?  The  Constan  Art  Thea- 
tre about  which  you  have  told  me,  or  Eleonora 
Duse-,  about  whose  ideals  I  have  heard  so  much  ? 
And  then  the  Americans  ?  You  see,  I  want  to 
know  on  whom  you  rely  for  support,  for  that  is  the 
first  requisite  to  make  your  scheme  practical. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  have  put  me  an  easy  question  to  answer. 
You  have  mentioned  some  of  the  best-known  names 
in  the  theatrical  world.  If  the  proposed  college  is 
opposed  to  all  their  interests  they  will  not  support 
it.  But  consider  whether  this  is  the  case.  For 
instance,  amongst  those  you  have  named  are 
possibly  a  few  men  of  decidedly  ideal  tendencies. 
The  directors  of  the  Constan  Art  Theatre  are  un- 
doubtedly such  men.  I  think  we  have  their  support. 
Madame  Duse  ?  I  think  she  would  never  refuse 
hers.  Then  there  is  Reinhardt  of  Berlin.  Such  a 
scheme  is  one  which  is  certainly  not  opposed  to 
his  interests.  And  that  Sir  Herbert  Beerbohm- 

244 


*>  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

Tree's  name  will  be  found  in  such  company  is  far 
more  likely  than  that  he  should  join  issue  with 
those  weary  gentlemen  whose  love  of  adventure 
has  left  them.  Madame  Bernhardt  and  Antoine 
are  more  than  likely  to  applaud  our  proposals  and 
to  guarantee  them  as  practical  if  they  read  and 
understand  them. 

PLAYGOER 

And  will  these  do  no  more  than  give  you  their 
moral  support  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Why,  what  else  can  they  give  ?  They  are  hard 
workers  in  a  very  different  profession,  and  already 
their  reputation  for  generosity  has  been  too  often 
imposed  upon.  If  they  will  give  us  their  hands 
and  bid  us  God-speed  it  is  all  we  should  ever 
dream  of  asking  for. 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  but  your  capital — where  is  that  coming 
from  ?  A  bundle  of  God- speeds  are  pretty,  but  no 
practical  use  can  be  made  of  them. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  may  be  right,  though  everything  is  not 
valued  by  making  a  practical  use  of  it.  We 
shall  expect  to  receive  practical  support  from  the 
State. 

245 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   *> 

PLAYGOER 

Your  confidence  inspires  me  to  believe  you  are 
right.  But  there  are  two  things  which  you  will 
have  to  prove  to  the  State  before  it  will  accord  you 
its  support. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
What  are  they  ? 

PLAYGOER 

First,  you  will  have  to  show  clearly  that  the 
State  would  benefit;  secondly,  that  the  advantage 
would  exceed  the  cost. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Very  well,  then,  let  us  first  consider  how  the 
State  would  benefit. 

The  Theatre  affects  the  people  in  two  different 
ways.  It  either  instructs  or  it  amuses.  There 
are  many  ways  to  instruct  and  to  amuse.  Now, 
which  would  you  say  was  the  more  instructive, 
something  heard  or  something  seen  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  would  say  the  latter. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  which  would  you  say  was  easier  of  com- 
prehension, the  beautiful  or  the  ugly,  the  noble  or 

the  mean  ? 

246 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 

If  we  seek  for  instruction  it  is  easier  to  com- 
prehend the  beautiful  and  the  noble,  for  it  is 
that  which  we  are  searching  for;  if  we  seek  for 
amusement  the  ignoble  and  ugly  is  possibly  more 
immediate  in  its  effect. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
And  is  the  beautiful  and  the  noble  more  amusing  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  think  it  is  not. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  yet  what  is  that  which,  when  you  see  and 
hear  it,  causes  you  to  feel  smilingly  from  top  to 

toe? 

PLAYGOER 

The  beautiful — truth — oh,  something  which  it  is 
quite  beyond  us  to  explain. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  think  so  too.  Yet  is  there  not  something  of 
amusement  in  it?  for  we  smile ;  and  a  smile  is  the 
whisper  of  laughter. 

PLAYGOER 
You  are  right. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Perhaps  we  may  call  it  the  very  best  part  of 
amusement  ? 

247 


^   THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 
We  may  for  the  sake  of  argument. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  this  is  connected,  as  we  have  seen,  with  the 
beautiful  and  the  noble;  therefore  the  very  best 
part  of  amusement  is  akin  to  the  best  part  of 
instruction. 

PLAYGOER 
It  seems  so. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Now,  we  have  said  that  the  Theatre  either 
instructs  or  amuses.  Yet  we  see  that  sometimes 
it  acts  in  both  ways;  in  short,  it  both  instructs 
and  amuses  when  it  is  noblest  and  most  beautiful. 

PLAYGOER 
True. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Would  you  say  that  this  feeling,  which  for  want 
of  the  right  word  I  have  called  "  smiling  from  top 
to  toe,"  is  a  good  or  a  bad  feeling  ? 

PLAYGOER 
I  should  say  it  was  the  very  best  feeling. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

In  fact,  if  you  saw  hundreds  of  faces  in  a  gather- 
ing of  people  wreathed  in  smiles,  you  would  say 
that  they  felt  happier  than  if  you  saw  those  faces 
strained  and  weary-looking  ? 

248 


PLAYGOER 
Why,  certainly  I  should. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  tell  me,  if  you  were  a  king,  would  you 
rather  see  happy  faces  such  as  I  have  described 
or  gloomy  ones  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Happy  ones,  of  course. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Another  question  :  Would  you  prefer  to  see  them 
smiling  or  thoughtful  ? 

PLAYGOER 

Smiling  or  thoughtful  ?  The  thoughtful  face  is 
not  necessarily  the  gloomy  face, — and  yet  I  would 
prefer  that  they  smiled. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
Why  would  you  prefer  it  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Because  then  I  too  should  feel  like  smiling. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

A  good  answer.  Now  you  told  me  just  now 
that  something  seen  instructs  us  more  than  some- 
thing heard.  May  I  take  it  that  you  mean  that 
what  we  see  is  more  swiftly  and  more  easily 
comprehended  ? 

249 


oTRE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Let  us  take  an  example.  We  see  a  finely  bred 
horse  let  loose  in  a  field.  He  gambols,  arches  his 
neck,  looks  around  splendidly  with  his  eye.  If  we 
had  never  seen  a  horse  before,  no  description  would 
convey  the  right  impression  to  us  so  swiftly  as  does 
this  seeing  him. 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  that  is  very  true. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  would  a  verbal  description  of  the  horse 
delivered  at  the  same  time  as  it  became  visible  to 
us  assist  us  to  understand  better  what  we  see  ? 

PLAYGOER 

No,  I  think  it  might  confuse  us,  for  we  should 
be  so  much  occupied  in  gazing  at  the  creature. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Then  you  would  not  be  prepared  to  hear  any- 
thing about  it  in  addition  to  seeing  it  ? 

PLAYGOER 
No,  it  would  rather  irritate  than  assist. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

And  yet  they  say  that  instruction  is  obtained 
250 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

through  the  sense  of  hearing  as  well  as  through 
that  of  sight. 

PLAYGOER 

Yes,  but  the  two  impressions  are  likely  to  con- 
found each  other  if  they  come  to  us  simultaneously. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Well,  then,  let  us  put  it  differently.  Suppose 
the  horse  in  his  gambols  before  us  should  give 
expression  to  his  joy  and  pride  by  neighing — what 
then? 

PLAYGOER 

Ah,  that's  true  !  That  would  assist  us  to  compre- 
hend; our  senses  would  be  delighted. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

The  neigh  of  a  horse,  then,  is  more  illuminating 
than  a  learned  discourse  ?  Would  you  smile  on 
hearing  it  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Yes,  it  is  very  likely. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  would  say  then  that  you  had  been  perfectly 
instructed,  for  you  had  seen  something  noble  and 
you  had  heard  some  playful  expression  proceeding 
from  that  which  seemed  so  noble,  and  you  would 
smile  through  your  understanding.  You  would  not 
become  thoughtful,  would  you  ? 

251 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 
No,  no ;  I  should  be  enchanted. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

You  would;  and  that  is  precisely  the  state  of 
mind  you  achieve  in  a  theatre  such  as  I  mentioned, 
where  instruction  and  amusement  spring  from  the 
contemplation  by  eye  and  ear  of  the  beautiful. 
You  would  be  enchanted.  A  poorer  state  of  mind 
would  be  tha  result  should  instruction  without 
amusement  be  offered  you;  you  would  be  merely 
instructed.  And  a  much  poorer  state  of  mind 
would  result  if  you  received  amusement  without 
instruction. 

You  will  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  all  along 
spoken  of  true  amusement  in  a  high  sense  and  true 
instruction  in  the  same  sense ;  that  is  to  say,  I  have 
spoken  of  them  as  two  things  which  it  is  possible 
and  desirable  to  connect,  and  therefore  have  in- 
dicated that  they  are  very  much  alike  and  indeed 
hardly  divisible. 

PLAYGOER 

Yet  they  are  separated,  for  the  music-hall  echoes 
with  shrieks  and  howls  of  the  loudest  laughter, 
and  the  faces  of  the  audience  at  the  Lyceum  are 
very  much  drawn  during  the  performance  of  King 
Lear  or  Hamlet. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Yes,  that  is  precisely  what  I  am  wanting  to  talk 
252 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

about.  The  division  is  much  too  great,  especially 
in  England,  for  in  a  music  hall  in  Germany  we  hear 
far  fewer  bursts  of  rough  laughter,  and  the  faces 
at  the  tragedies  are  less  strained  and  more  thought- 
ful. A  perfect  theatre  would  neither  tighten  nor 
loosen  the  muscles  of  the  face,  and  would  neither 
contract  the  cells  of  the  brain  nor  the  heart-strings. 
All  would  be  set  at  ease ;  and  to  produce  this  state 
of  mental  and  physical  ease  in  the  people  is  the 
duty  of  the  Theatre  and  its  Art. 

PLAYGOER 
But  a  perfect  theatre  is  impossible. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

What  do  I  hear  ?  What  is  it  you  say  ?  I  think 
we  are  in  England — no  ?  I  think  you  are  an 
Englishman — am  I  right  ?  and  I  think  you  will 
withdraw  that  last  remark  of  yours  at  once. 

PLAYGOER 

You  look  so  like  that  horse  you  were  describing 
that  I  do  so  to  avoid  your  heels  ! 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Bravo  !  And  now  that  it  is  agreed  that  it  is 
possible  to  create  a  perfect  theatre  here  in  England 
let  us  see  how  we  may  do  so.  You  say  we  must 
prove  that  the  State  will  be  benefited  before  we 
can  hope  for  its  support.  Well,  it  is  the  most 
perfect  theatre  in  the  world  that  we  shall  offer  to 

253 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

the  State,  and  is  not  that  a  benefit  ?  This  theatre 
will  be  created  after  some  years  of  toil l  by  following 
the  method  of  search  which  I  have  sketched  out 
for  you. 

PLAYGOER 

But  you  have  not  shown  me  that  the  cost  of 
this  "  expedition  "  will  be  less  than  the  advantage 
to  the  State,  which  will  only  be  benefited  if  the 
gain  exceeds  the  expense. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  will  do  so  in  as  few  words  as  possible ;  though, 
in  a  short  conversation,  I  cannot  bring  all  the 
proof  to  bear  upon  this  and  other  points  that  I 
could  do  if  the  matter  should  be  taken  up  for  more 
serious  inquiry  by  a  committee  appointed  for  the 
purpose. 

The  expenses  of  our  first  five  years  would  be, 
as  I  said  before,  £25,000.  Now,  £25,000  possibly 
seems  to  you  a  great  deal  of  money.  Let  us  see, 
however,  what  it  really  represents. 

It  represents  F.  Nansen's  expenses  for  his  Polar 
Expedition,  1893-96. 

It  represents  the  cost  of  one  picture  in  the 
National  Gallery. 

It  represents  the  cost  of  about  three  to  five 

1  The  Constan  Art  Theatre,  the  most  perfectly  organized  and 
conducted  theatre  in  Europe,  has  taken  ten  years  to  achieve  its 
present  perfection,  and  only  in  the  tenth  year  did  it  commence 
to  return  a  dividend. 

254 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

productions  at  His  Majesty's  Theatre  or  Drury 
Lane. 

It  represents  about  the  cost  of  a  single  Pageant 
in  England,  1908. 

It  represents  one  quarter  of  Sarah  Bernhardt's 
profits  for  her  tour  in  France,  1880-81. 

It  represents  the  average  takings  of  a  hundred 
London  theatres  for  one  night. 

It  represents  about  a  third  of  the  sum  paid  for 
a  single  "  Triumph  "  in  1634.1 

It  represents  less  than  half  the  sum  spent  on 
enlarging  and  improving  the  Lyceum  Theatre  in 
1881. 

It  represents  a  fifth  of  the  profits  of  one  single 
Irving  tour  in  America.2 

Now  tell  me,  do  you  think  £25,000  a  large  sum 
to  pay  for  the  expenses  of  so  important  a  work 
covering  five  years  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  do  not  think  so  now  after  what  you  have  told 
me. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Now  consider,  also,  how  much  the  public  has 
to  pay  for  the  many  theatrical  experiments  made 
every  year.  You  may  say  that  nearly  every  pro- 
duction in  London  and  the  provinces  is  to-day  an 

1  "  The  Triumph  of  Peace."     See  SYMONDS  :  Shakespeare's  Pre- 
decessors, p.  27- 

2  BRERETON  :  Life  of  Irving,  p.  312. 

255 


oTKE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

experiment — an  honest  if  incomplete  and  method- 
less  experiment — towards  bettering  the  craft  of 
stage  work.  The  public  is  led  to  believe  that  these 
experiments  are  finished  works  of  art,  whereas 
they  are  not  works  of  art  at  all,  but  just  honestly 
intended,  though  shockingly  perpetrated,  blunders. 
Now  would  it  not  be  cheaper  for  the  public  if 
some  one — the  State,  a  millionaire,  or  even  the 
public  itself — should  pay  such  a  small  sum  as  I 
have  indicated,  £25,000,  to  cover  the  expenses  of 
five  years'  serious  and  practical  experiment  by 
picked  men,  rather  than  to  continue  for  ever  to  part 
yearly  with  the  sum  of  £2,500,000  (two  millions  and 
a  hah*  sterling),  as  it  is  doing  to-day,  for  experiments 
made  in  a  hurry  and  without  method  ? 

PLAYGOER 
Does  the  public  part  with  so  great  a  sum  yearly  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Let  us  see  if  I  am  correct.  Let  us  say  that 
there  are  one  hundred  theatres  in  England.1  Let 
us  say  each  of  the  hundred  takes  £250  a  night 
from  the  public,2  and  let  us  say  they  take  this  for 
one  hundred  nights  as  representing  a  year.3 

We  place  the  whole  calculation  as  low  as  possible, 
and  it  still  reaches  a  colossal  total  of  two  millions 
and  a  half  sterling,  taken  from  the  public  in  the 

1  There  are  more  than  six  times  that  number. 

2  The  Lyceum  in  1881  could  hold  £328  in  one  evening. 

3  Theatres  remain  open  for  over  two  hundred  nights  in  a  year. 

256 


o  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

course  of  one  year  for  rubbish.     Have  I  answered 
your  second  question,  then? 

PLAYGOER 

Hardly.  I  asked  you  if  the  advantage  to  be 
derived  by  the  State  would  exceed  the  cost.  You 
have  only  shown  me  that  the  cost  is  exceedingly 
low  in  comparison  with  other  State  and  private 
expenditures,  but  you  have  yet  to  show  me  that 
the  State  will  reap  its  £25,000  worth  of  advantages. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Let  us  look  into  that  at  once.  The  State  will 
receive  from  the  college  at  the  end  of  five  years 
the  results  of  their  labours.  These  will  include: 
(1)  A  practical  demonstration  of  the  best  method 
to  be  employed  for  building  and  directing  a  national 
theatre  as  an  ideal  theatre,  and  in  a  manner 
hitherto  deemed  impossible.  (2)  The  improve- 
ment by  simplification  of  many  of  the  mechanical 
appliances  of  the  modern  stage.  (3)  The  training 
of  stage-managers  and  of  the  staff  employed  to 
shift  the  scenery.  (4)  The  training  of  actors  to 
speak  and  to  move — the  chief  difficulties  of  the 
average  actor.  (5)  The  training  of  a  group  of 
original  scene-painters,  a  group  of  perfectly  drilled 
men  to  execute  any  given  order  regarding  the  lights 
on  the  Stage,  for  at  present,  as  any  visit  to  a  special 
light  rehearsal  will  show,  the  lighting  staff  in  a 
theatre  is  always  at  sea. 
s  257 


o  T  HE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

There  are  three  main  reasons  for  this ;  the  first  is 
that  a  stage-director  does  not  know  what  he  wants, 
does  not  know  the  names  or  uses  of  the  machines 
employed  or  of  their  parts  or  what  these  machines 
are  capable  of,  and  is  utterly  ignorant  of  how  to 
obtain  a  result.  He  leaves  it  all  to  accident  and 
chance  *'  effect."  The  second  reason  is  that  the 
majority  of  men  who  work  the  machines  at  evening 
performances  are  employed  on  different  work  by 
day,  and  have  received  but  the  barest  training  as  to 
their  duties.  The  third  reason  is  that  the  machines 
are  designed  without  knowledge  of  the  use  to  which 
they  should  serve.  Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
the  electricians  have  many  unnecessary  difficulties 
to  contend  with,  which  would  be  removed  if  the 
whole  craft  of  the  modern  stage  were  to  be  studied 
afresh  with  a  view  to  readjusting  its  component 
parts.  There  is  only  one  man  to  whom  we  look 
for  this — the  stage-manager ;  but  his  opportunities 
of  study  are  few,  for  his  time  is  occupied  in  having 
to  attend  to  and  straighten  out  awkward  situations, 
created  too  often  by  the  director  of  the  theatre 
and  by  the  actors,  actresses  and  supers.  If  he 
attempts  to  improve  things  every  one  loses  their 
heads.  When  the  stage-manager  can  have  time 
to  train,  and  can  afterwards  be  given  authority 
and  opportunity  to  train  his  staff,  theatres  will 
take  a  small  step  in  the  right  direction.  A  college 
is  the  only  place  where  such  training  can  be  re- 
ceived and  given. 

258 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

In  short,  what  we  should  tender  to  the  State 
in  return  for  its  support,  would  be  the  nucleus  of 
an  Ideal  Theatre  on  a  practical  basis,  with  a  college 
for  the  subsequent  training  of  the  staff  from  stage- 
manager  to  electricians,  raising  all  to  an  ideal 
standard  which  should  not  be  lowered  under  any 
excuse  whatever. 

You  see  then  that  the  college,  with  its  eyes  fixed 
on  the  future  and  its  ideal  firmly  established, 
would  keep  its  hands  and  fingers  busy  with  the 
present.  The  search  for  the  lost  Art  of  the  Theatre 
must  be  made  only  after  passing  through  the  regions 
in  which  the  modern  theatre  is  situated.  In 
passing  we  shall  re-establish  its  order;  do  you 
understand  ? 

PLAYGOER 

I  think  you  have  made  it  clear.  And  now,  one 
more  question.  Are  you  to  act  as  the  head  of  this 
college  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

No.  The  head,  or  leader,  as  I  tell  you,  will  be 
elected  by  the  members. 

PLAYGOER 

And  will  you  not  enter  for  election  ?  What 
will  the  college  be  without  you  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Everything.     With  me,  nothing, 
s  2  259 


0  THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE   o 

PLAYGOER 

What  do  you  mean  ?  Will  you  desert  the  very 
scheme  you  have  created  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 
No ;  I  shall  never  be  absent  from  the  college,  but 

1  shall  not  act  as  either  head,  body  or  member. 

PLAYGOER 
What  will  you  do,  then  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  shall  give  it  its  existence,  and  shall  then  ask 
to  be  permitted  free  entrance  to  the  college,  so  as 
to  study  there  whenever  I  wish  to.  And  my  reasons 
for  desiring  this  are  many.  To  explain  them  to 
you  fully  would  take  many  years.  But  you  may 
take  it  that  they  are  not  lazy  reasons.  I  should 
feel  honoured  to  be  a  member  of  such  a  college. 

PLAYGOER 

But  you  will  give  it  more  than  this — you  will 
yourself  make  experiments  and  lend  your  gifts  to 
the  work  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

My  gifts  are  few  and  cannot  be  lent.  I  would 
willingly  make  experiments  if  asked  to  do  so,  but 
I  believe  I  can  be  of  more  use  to  this  college  at  a 
little  distance  than  connected  with  it. 

260 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 

And  this  is  how  you  would  propose  to  discover 
this  lost  art,  which  you,  probably,  more  than  any 
one  else,  know  most  about  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

I  know  very  little  about  it,  but  possibly  I  know 
where  it  is  situated  better  than  the  others.  I  can 
point  to  the  right  direction,  and  for  this  reason 
I  believe  I  am  not  altogether  valueless  to  the  efforts 
of  the  college.  In  their  search,  their  experiments, 
I  shall  be  ever  with  them,  but  I  shall  not  lead  them, 
nor  must  I  be  expected  to  follow  them.  When- 
ever called  upon  I  shall  be  at  their  service,  but  not 
for  any  fixed  occupation. 

PLAYGOER 

Well,  you  somewhat  take  my  breath  away.  You 
prove  to  me  that  you  know  as  much  or  more  than 
the  rest  of  the  world  about  this  Third  Art,  as  you 
have  called  it,  and  you  talk  about  it  to  me  for 
hours;  you  give  up  everything  in  your  life  for  it 
and  you  propose  to  plan  out  the  college  up  to  a 
certain  point — and  then  you  hand  over  your 
college,  idea,  plan,  to  some  one  else.  Have  you  no 
fear  that  the  whole  thing  will  become  much  changed 
when  it  leaves  your  hands  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  will  certainly  change — its  existence  depends 
upon  this  fact ;  but  I  have  no  fear  because  of  that. 

261 


^THE    SECOND    DIALOGUE    o 

PLAYGOER 

But  have  you  no  personal  desires  in  relation  to 
this  college  ?  Will  you  not  be  a  little  pained  to 
see  it  moving  in  a  wrong  direction  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

It  will  not  do  so.  The  magnet  of  the  ideal  is 
fixed;  attraction  has  already  commenced;  it  is  in 
resisting  this  that  we  shall  make  our  discoveries. 
There  will  be  men  with  us  who  will  from  time 
to  time  become  depressed  and  tired,  and  then 
mistakes  are  likely  to  occur — and  with  the  mis- 
takes discoveries.  But  the  mistakes  will  never  be 
wilfully  made  from  some  selfish  motive,  and  can 
but  be  the  result  of  too  great  a  strain.  But  these 
resistances,  as  I  said,  will  only  lead  us  towards  our 
ideal. 

PLAYGOER 

But  the  modern  theatre  which  you  profess  to 
despise  resists  the  attraction  of  the  ideal. 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

Ah !  that  is  quite  different.  They  resist  through 
fear ;  we  shall  resist  through  courage.  We  shall  hear 
the  call  and  feel  the  pull,  and  we  shall  go  straight 
onwards,  but  with  slow  deliberation,  making  dis- 
coveries all  along  the  way.  We  shall  finally 
discover  what  we  look  for  and  what  attracts  us, 

and  then 

262 


"  HUNGER."    A  DEAMA 
THE  PROLOGUE. 

/  once,  wrote,  or  rather  constructed,  a  Drama  called  "  Hunger" 
making  for  it  many  designs.  I  hope  to  complete  this  Drama  when 
I  have  my  school  and  workmen  to  help  me.  For  to  finish  a  thing  for 
the  stage  in  the  study  is  a  mistake  I  ought  not  to  be  guilty  of. 

And  then  I  hope  to  give  performances  of  it  before  a  small  and 
select  audience. 

Not  that  I  believe  the  theatre  is  for  the  "  few  " —  but  there  are 
some  plays  and  some  shows  which  are  not  for  "  the  many.11  Nothing 
would  make  me  alter  or  destroy  this  Drama — but  nothing  would 
persuade  me  that  it  would  be  right  to  show  it  to  a  large  and  mixed 
audience. 

For  it  is  wrong  for  the  poor  and  hungry  to  be  shown  a  vision  of 
themselves  and  their  misery — but  it  is  not  entirely  wrong  to  show  it 
to  a  few  people  who  might,  if  they  once  saw,  do  something  to  make 
Hunger  less  general. 

No  amount  of  preaching  in  a  theatre  is  of  any  more  use  to 
humanity  than  preaching  in  the  streets.  For  words  never  explain. 
But  to  see  a  thing,  and  how  sad  some  things  are  and  how  terrible 
other  things  are,  is  quite  a  different  matter.  Argument  is  silenced. 
In  my  Drama  the  Hunger  of  the  Poor  and  the  Hunger  of  the  Rich 
were  placed  side  by  side.  And  the  king  or  man  of  God  stood  apart — 
and  no  one  could  tell  us  what  he  felt — As  it  always  was  and  always 
will  be. 


' 
ol  sut  atom  \ 

i  \o  TjQ;wU  r)A\  bnn  too^l  ?AV  \o  •u^nttli  ?iVi  MKI 


[Face  page  262. 


oTHE    SECOND    DIALOGUED 

PLAYGOER 
What  then  ? 

STAGE-DIRECTOR 

A  question.  And  for  my  part  I  am  thoroughly 
convinced  that  there  will  never  be  an  end  to  our 
journey.  Attraction  shall  never  cease  for  us; 
that  will  never  change,  we  shall  ever  be  invited, 
beckoned,  impelled  to  move  forward. 

1910. 


263 


ON  THE  GHOSTS  IN  THE 
TRAGEDIES  OF  SHAKE- 
SPEARE 000 

A  VERY  curious  indication  as  to  the  way  in  which 
-^JL_  the  producer  should  treat  the  Shakespearean 
tragedies  on  the  stage  lies  in  the  appearance  in 
those  tragedies  of  the  ghosts  or  spirits. 

The  fact  of  their  presence  precludes  a  realistic 
treatment  of  the  tragedies  in  which  they  appear. 
Shakespeare  has  made  them  the  centre  of  his  vast 
dreams,  and  the  central  point  of  a  dream,  as  of  a 
circular  geometrical  figure,  controls  and  conditions 
every  hair's  breadth  of  the  circumference. 

These  spirits  set  the  key  to  which,  as  in  music, 
every  note  of  the  composition  must  be  harmonized ; 
they  are  integral,  not  extraneous  parts  of  the  drama ; 
they  are  the  visualized  symbols  of  the  supernatural 
world  which  enfolds  the  natural,  exerting  in  the  action 
something  of  that  influence  which  in  "  the  science 
of  sound "  is  exerted  by  those  "  partial  tones, 
which  are  unheard,  but  which  blend  with  the  tones 
which  are  heard  and  make  all  the  difference 
between  the  poorest  instrument  and  the  supreme 
note  of  a  violin  " ;  for,  as  with  these,  "so  in  the 
science  of  life,  in  the  crowded  street  or  market  place 
or  theatre,  or  wherever  life  is,  there  are  partial 
tones,  there  are  unseen  presences.  Side  by  side 
with  the  human  crowd  is  a  crowd  of  unseen  forms. 

264 


'PARTIAL     TONES1 


Principalities  and  Powers  and  Possibilities.  .  .  . 
These  are  unseen  but  not  unfelt.  They  enter  into 
the  houses  of  the  human  beings  that  are  seen,  and 
for  their  coming  some  of  them  are  swept  and 
garnished,  and  they  abide  there,  and  the  last  state 
of  these  human  beings  is  radiant  with  a  divine 
light  and  resonant  with  an  added  love  ;  or,  on  the 
contrary,  it  may  be  that,  haunted  by  spirits  more 
wicked  than  themselves,  the  last  state  of  such  beings 
is  worse  than  before  :  subject  to  a  violence  and 
tyranny  abhorrent  even  to  themselves  ;  impalpable 
and  inevitable  as  it  would  seem,  even  to  the 
confines  of  despair." 

It  is  by  the  necromancy  of  these  "  partial  tones," 
by  the  introduction  of  influences  felt  even  when 
unseen,  at  times  impalpable  as  the  **  shadow  of 
a  shadow,"  yet  realized  even  then  as  dominant 
forces,  sometimes  malefic,  sometimes  beneficent, 
that  Shakespeare  achieves  results  which  surpass 
those  of  his  contemporaries  even  when,  like 
Middleton  in  his  Witch,  they  treat  of  similar 
themes. 

For  when  Shakespeare  wrote,  "  enter  the  ghost 
of  Banquo,"  he  did  not  have  in  his  mind  merely  a 
player  clothed  in  a  piece  of  gauze.  Nor  had  he 
done  so,  had  he  been  preoccupied  with  gauze  and 
limelight,  would  he  ever  have  created  the  Ghost  in 
Hamlet  ;  for  that  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father,  who 
moves  aside  the  veils  at  the  beginning  of  the  great 

1  Shorthouse. 
265 


SHAKESPEARE  AS  SCENOGRAPHER 

play,  is  not  a  joke ;  he  is  not  a  theatrical  gentleman 
in  armour,  is  not  a  farce  of  a  figure.  He  is  a 
momentary  visualization  of  the  unseen  forces  which 
dominate  the  action  and  is  a  clear  command  from 
Shakespeare  that  the  men  of  the  theatre  shall  rouse 
their  imagination  and  let  their  reasonable  logic 
slumber. 

For  the  appearances  of  all  these  spirits  in  the 
plays  are  not  the  inventions  of  a  pantomime 
manager;  they  are  the  loftiest  achievements  of  a 
lofty  poet,  and  carry  to  us  the  clearest  statements 
we  can  ever  receive  as  to  Shakespeare's  thoughts 
about  the  stage. 

"  The  suggestive  shall  predominate,  for  all 
pictures  on  the  stage  pretending  to  illusionize 
reality  must  necessarily  fail  in  their  effect  or  cause 
a  disillusionment.  Shakespeare's  dramas  are 
poetic  creations  and  must  be  presented  and  treated 
as  such ;  "  l  advice  which  should  be  especially 
borne  in  mind  by  all  who  set  themselves  to  inter- 
pret those  of  the  plays  in  which  the  supernatural 
element  is  introduced. 

Thus  if  a  man  of  the  theatre  shall  produce  Mac- 
beth, Hamlet,  Richard  the  Third,  Julius  Ccesar, 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  The  Tempest,  or  A  Mid- 
summer Nighfs  Dream  as  they  should  be  produced, 
he  must  first  of  all  woo  the  spirits  in  those  plays ; 
for  unless  he  understand  them  with  his  whole  being 
he  shall  but  produce  a  thing  of  rags  and  tatters. 

1  Hevesi. 
266 


SHAKESPEARE  AS  SCENOGRAPHER 

The  moment,  however,  that  he  is  at  one  with  these 
spirits,  the  moment  he  has  seen  their  proportion 
and  moved  to  their  rhythm,  in  that  moment  is  he  a 
master  of  the  art  of  producing  a  play  by  Shake- 
speare. But  this  the  stage-manager  never  seems  to 
realize,  for  did  he  do  so  he  would  adopt  a  very 
different  method  for  the  interpretation  of  those 
scenes  in  which  the  ghosts  appear. 

For  what  is  it  makes  the  ghosts  of  Shakespeare, 
which  are  so  significant  and  impressive  when  we 
read  the  plays,  appear  so  weak  and  unconvincing 
on  the  stage  ?  It  is  because  in  the  latter  case  the 
tap  is  turned  on  suddenly,  the  right  atmosphere 
has  not  been  prepared. 

Enter  a  ghost — sudden  panic  of  all  the  actors, 
of  all  the  limelights,  of  all  the  music  and  of  the 
entire  audience.  Exit  the  ghost — intense  relief 
of  the  whole  theatre.  In  fact,  with  the  exit  of  the 
ghost  on  the  stage  the  audience  may  be  said  to  feel 
that  something  best  not  spoken  about  has  been 
passed  over.  And  so  the  mighty  question,  which 
is  at  the  roots  of  the  whole  world,  of  life  and  death, 
that  fine  theme  ever  productive  of  so  much  beauty 
and  from  which  Shakespeare  weaves  his  veils,  is 
slurred  over,  avoided  as  with  an  apologetic  cough. 

We  are  children  in  such  matters.  We  think  a 
bogie  will  do.  We  giggle  when  we  are  asked  to 
present  the  idea  of  something  spiritual,  for  we  know 
nothing  of  spirits,  disbelieving  in  them.  We  giggle 
like  children  and  wrap  ourselves  in  a  table-cloth 

267 


THE    SUPERNATURAL    ELEMENT 

and  say  "Wow,  wow,  wow."  Yet  consider  such 
plays  as  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  Richard  the  Third.  What 
is  it  gives  them  their  supreme  mystery  and  terror, 
which  raises  them  above  mere  tragedies  of  ambition, 
murder,  madness  and  defeat  ?  Is  it  not  just  that 
supernatural  element  which  dominates  the  action 
from  first  to  last;  that  blending  of  the  material 
and  the  mystical;  that  sense  of  waiting  figures 
intangible  as  death,  of  mysterious  featureless 
faces  of  which,  sideways,  we  seem  to  catch  a 
glimpse,  although,  on  turning  fully  round,  we  find 
nothing  there  ?  In  Macbeth  the  air  is  thick  with 
mystery,  the  whole  action  ruled  by  an  invisible 
power ;  and  it  is  just  those  words  which  are  never 
heard,  just  those  figures  which  seldom  shape 
themselves  more  definitely  than  a  cloud's  shadow, 
that  give  the  play  its  mysterious  beauty,  its 
splendour,  its  depth  and  immensity,  and  in  which 
lies  its  primary  tragic  element. 

Let  the  stage-manager  concentrate  his  attention 
and  that  of  his  audience  on  the  seen  things  which 
are  temporal,  and  such  a  play  is  robbed  of  half 
its  majesty  and  all  its  significance.  But  let  him 
introduce,  without  travesty,  the  supernatural 
element ;  raise  the  action  from  the  merely  material 
to  the  psychological,  and  render  audible  to  the 
ears  of  the  soul  if  not  of  the  body  "  the  solemn 
uninterrupted  whisperings  of  man  and  his  destiny," 
point  out  "  the  uncertain  dolorous  footsteps  of  the 
being,  as  he  approaches,  or  wanders  from,  his  truth, 

268 


MACBETH 


his  beauty  or  his  God,"  and  show  how,  underlying 
King  Lear,  Macbeth  and  Hamlet,  is  "  the  murmur 
of  eternity  on  the  horizon,"  l  and  he  will  be  ful- 
filling the  poet's  intention  instead  of  turning  his 
majestic  spirits  into  sepulchral-voiced  gentlemen 
with  whitened  faces  and  robes  of  gauze. 

Consider,  for  instance,  more  in  detail,  the  play  of 
Macbeth,  in  which  "  the  overwhelming  pressure  of 
preternatural  agency  urges  on  the  tide  of  human 
passion  with  redoubled  force."  2  The  whole  success 
of  its  representation  depends  upon  the  power  of  the 
stage-manager  to  suggest  this  preternatural  agency 
and  on  the  capacity  of  the  actor  to  submit  to 
the  tide  of  the  play,  to  that  mysterious  mes- 
merism which  masters  Macbeth  and  his  "  troop  of 
friends." 

I  seem  to  see  him  in  the  first  four  acts  of  the  play 
as  a  man  who  is  hypnotized,  seldom  moving,  but, 
when  he  does  so,  moving  as  a  sleep-walker.  Later 
on  in  the  play  the  places  are  changed,  and  Lady 
Macbeth's  sleep-walking  is  like  the  grim,  ironical 
echo  of  Macbeth's  whole  life,  a  sharp,  shrill  echo 
quickly  growing  fainter,  fainter,  and  gone. 

In  the  last  act  Macbeth  awakes.  It  almost  seems 
to  be  a  new  rdle.  Instead  of  a  sleep-walker  dragging 
his  feet  heavily  he  becomes  an  ordinary  man  startled 
from  a  dream  to  find  the  dream  true.  He  is  not 
the  man  some  actors  show  him  to  be,  the  trapped, 
cowardly  villain;  nor  yet  is  he  to  my  mind  the 

1  Maeterlinck.  2  Hazlitt. 

269 


MACBETH 


bold,  courageous  villain  as  other  actors  play  him. 
He  is  as  a  doomed  man  who  has  been  suddenly 
awakened  on  the  morning  of  his  execution,  and,  in 
the  sharpness  and  abruptness  of  that  awakening, 
understands  nothing  but  the  facts  before  him,  and 
even  of  these  understands  the  external  meaning 
only.  He  sees  the  army  in  front  of  him;  he  will 
fight,  and  he  prepares  to  do  so,  puzzling  all  the 
time  about  the  meaning  of  his  dream.  Occasionally 
he  relapses  into  his  state  of  somnambulism.  While 
his  wife  lived  he  was  not  conscious  of  his  state,  he 
acted  the  part  of  her  medium  perfectly,  and  she  in 
her  turn  acted  as  medium  to  the  spirits  whose  duty 
it  ever  is  to  test  the  strength  of  men  by  playing 
with  their  force  upon  the  weakness  of  women. 

Nietzsche,  writing  of  Macbeth,  sees  only  the 
mad  ambition  of  the  man,  this  human  passion  of 
ambition;  and  he  tells  us  that  this  sight,  instead 
of  irresistibly  detracting  from  the  evil  ambition 
in  us,  rather  augments  it.  Perhaps  this  is  so;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  behind  all  this  there  is  much 
more  than  evil  ambition  and  the  idea  of  the  hero 
and  the  villain. 

Behind  it  all  I  seem  to  perceive  the  unseen  forces 
already  spoken  of;  those  spirits  that  Shakespeare 
was  always  so  fond  of  hinting  stood  behind  all 
things  of  this  earth,  moved  them,  and  moved 
them  apparently  to  these  great  deeds  for  good  or 
evil. 

In  Macbeth  they  are  called  by  the  old  grand- 
270 


MACBETH 
A  WITCH. — ACT.  IV.  SCENE  I. 

2nd  Witch.     Fillet  of  a  fenny  snake  ; 

In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake  ; 
Eye  of  newt,  and  toe  of  frog, 
Wool  of  bat,  and  tongue  of  dog, 
Adder's  fork,  and  blind-worm's  sting 
Lizard's  leg,  and  howlet's  wing, 
For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble, 
Like  a  hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

All.  Double,  double,  toil  and  trouble  ; 

Fire,  burn  ;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 


[/•  'act  page  270. 


o     THE    'THREE     WITCHES'     o 

mother's  title  of  the  Three  Witches,  that  elastic 
name  which  the  public  in  the  theatre  may  either 
laugh  at  or  be  serious  about  as  it  wishes. 

Now  when  I  speak  of  this  hypnotic  influence  of 
these  spirits  as  though  I  were  mentioning  something 
quite  new,  I  am  speaking  entirely  in  relation  to  the 
interpretation  of  Shakespeare  on  the  stage  and  not 
merely  as  his  student.  I  know  that  the  students 
have  written  about  these  spirits,  comparing  them  to 
certain  figures  in  the  Greek  tragedy  and  writing 
of  them  far  more  profoundly  than  I  can  do.  But 
their  writings  are  for  those  who  read  Shakespeare, 
or  who  see  him  acted,  not  for  those  who  take  part 
in  the  presentation  of  his  plays.  Whether  the 
plays  were  ever  intended  to  be  acted  or  no,  whether 
or  not  they  gain  by  being  acted,  does  not  concern 
me  here.  But  if  I  were  asked  to  present  this  play 
of  Macbeth  upon  the  stage,  I  should  need  to  bring 
to  it  an  understanding  different  entirely  from  that 
which  the  student  brings  when  he  has  only  himself 
to  consider  as  he  sits  reading  it  in  private.  You 
may  feel  the  presence  of  these  witches  as  you  read 
the  play,  but  which  of  you  has  ever  felt  their 
presence  when  you  saw  the  play  acted  ?  And 
therein  lies  the  failure  of  the  producer  and  the 
actor. 

In  Macbeth  it  is,  to  my  mind,  during  the  hypnotic 
moments  that  we  should  feel  the  overpowering 
force  of  these  unseen  agencies ;  and  how  to  make 
this  felt,  how  to  make  it  clear  and  yet  not  actual, 

271 


THE    CHIEF    DIFFICULTY 

is  the  problem  of  the  stage-manager.  To  me  it 
seems  that  the  play  has  never  yet  been  properly 
performed  because  we  have  never  yet  felt  these 
spirits  working  through  the  woman  at  the  man,  and 
to  achieve  this  would  be  one  of  the  most  difficult 
tasks  which  could  be  set  the  stage-manager, 
though  not  because  of  the  difficulty  of  purchasing 
gauze  which  should  be  sufficiently  transparent, 
not  because  of  the  difficulty  of  finding  machinery 
capable  of  raising  the  ghosts,  or  any  other  such 
reason.  The  chief  difficulty  lies  with  the  two 
performers  of  the  roles  of  Lady  Macbeth  and 
Macbeth,  for  if  it  is  admitted  that  this  spiritual 
element  which  Shakespeare  called  the  Witches  and 
Ghosts  is  in  any  way  connected  with  the  pain  of 
these  two  beings,  Macbeth  and  his  Lady,  then 
these  two  characters  must  show  this  to  the  audience. 

But,  while  it  rests  with  the  actors  of  these  two 
parts,  it  also  rests  with  the  actors  of  the  witches, 
and  above  all  with  the  stage-manager,  to  bring 
these  spirits  and  their  mediums  into  effective 
harmony. 

On  the  stage  the  spirits  are  never  seen  during 
the  scenes  of  Lady  Macbeth,  neither  are  we  con- 
scious of  their  influence;  yet  as  we  read  the  play 
we  are  not  only  conscious  of  the  influence  of  these 
"  sightless  substances  " ;  we  are  somehow  conscious 
of  their  presence.  We  feel  it  as  the  presence  of 
the  French  Abbe  was  felt  in  Shorthouse's  romance 
of  The  Countess  Eve. 

272 


THE    CHIEF    DIFFICULTY 

Are  there  not  moments  in  the  play  when  one  of 
these  three  spirits  seems  to  have  clapped  its  skinny 
hand  upon  Lady  Macbeth's  mouth  and  answered 
in  her  stead  ?  And  who  was  it,  if  not  one  of  them, 
who  drew  her  by  the  wrist  as  she  passed  into  the 
room  of  the  old  king  with  the  two  daggers  in  her 
hand  ?  Who  was  it  pushed  her  by  the  elbow  as 
she  smeared  the  faces  of  the  grooms  ?  Again, 
what  is  this  dagger  that  Macbeth  sees  in  the  air  ? 
by  what  thread  of  hair  does  it  hang  ?  who  dangles 
it  ?  and  whose  is  the  voice  heard  as  he  returns  from 
the  chamber  of  the  murdered  king  ? 

Macb.  I've  done  the  deed.     Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 
Lady  M.  I  heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry. 
Did  not  you  speak  ? 
Macb.  When? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb.  As  I  descended  ? 

Who  is  this  that  was  heard  to  speak  as  he 
descended  ? 

And  who  are  these  mysterious  three  who  dance 
gaily  without  making  any  sound  around  this 
miserable  pair  as  they  talk  together  in  the  dark 
after  the  dark  deed  ?  We  know  quite  well  as  we 
read;  we  forget  altogether  when  we  see  the  play 
presented  upon  the  stage.  There  we  see  only  the 
weak  man  being  egged  on  by  the  ambitious  woman 
who  is  assuming  the  manners  of  what  is  called  the 
**  Tragedy  Queen  " ;  and  in  other  scenes  we  see  the 
same  man,  having  found  that  the  same  ambitious 
T  273 


o    WHAT     WE    SHOULD    SEE     o 

lady  does  not  assist  him,  calling  upon  some  bogies 
and  having  an  interview  with  them  in  a  cavern. 

What  we  should  see  is  a  man  in  that  hypnotic 
state  which  can  be  both  terrible  and  beautiful  to 
witness.  We  should  realize  that  this  hypnotism 
is  transmitted  to  him  through  the  medium  of  his 
wife,  and  we  should  recognize  the  witches  as 
spirits,  more  terrible  because  more  beautiful  than 
we  can  conceive  except  by  making  them  terrible. 
We  should  see  them,  not  as  Hazlitt  imagined  them, 
as  "  hags  of  mischief,  obscene  panderers  to  iniquity, 
malicious  from  their  impotence  of  enjoyment, 
enamoured  of  destruction,  because  they  are  them- 
selves unreal,  abortive,  half-existences,  who  be- 
come sublime  from  their  exemption  from  all 
human  sympathies  and  contempt  for  all  human 
affairs,"  but  rather  picture  them  to  ourselves  as 
we  picture  the  militant  Christ  scourging  the  money- 
lenders, the  fools  who  denied  Him.  Here  we  have 
the  idea  of  the  supreme  God,  the  supreme  Love, 
and  it  is  that  which  has  to  be  brought  into  Macbeth 
on  the  stage.  We  see  in  this  instance  the  God  of 
Force  as  exemplified  in  these  witches,  placing  these 
two  pieces  of  mortality  upon  the  anvil  and  crushing 
them  because  they  were  not  hard  enough  to  resist ; 
consuming  them  because  they  could  not  stand  the 
fire  :  offering  the  woman  a  crown  for  her  husband, 
flattering  her  beyond  measure,  whispering  to  her 
of  her  superior  force,  of  her  superior  intellect; 

whispering  to  him  of  his  bravery. 

274 


THE    MEETING 


See  how  persuasively  the  spirits  can  work  upon 
the  man  or  the  woman  when  separated  and  alone  ! 
listen  to  the  flow  of  their  language;  they  are 
drunk  with  the  force  of  these  spirits  though  unaware 
of  their  presence 

But  note  the  moment  when  these  two  come 
together.  In  each  other's  faces  they  see,  as  it 
were,  something  so  strange  that  they  seem  to  be 
surprised  by  a  reminiscence.  "  Where  have  I  seen 
that  before  or  felt  that  which  I  now  see  ?  "  Each 
becomes  furtive,  alert,  fearful,  on  the  defensive, 
and  so  there  is  no  outpouring  of  speech  here,  but 
their  meeting  is  like  the  cautious  approach  of  two 
animals. 

What  is  it  they  see  ?  —  the  spirit  which  clings 
round  the  feet  or  hangs  upon  the  neck,  or,  as  in  the 
old  Durer  picture,  is  whispering  in  the  ear  ?  Yet 
why,  one  wonders,  should  these  spirits  appear  so 
horrible  when  a  moment  ago  we  were  speaking  of 
them  as  beings  so  divine  as  to  resemble  the  militant 
Christ?  and  the  answer  seems  obvious.  Is  it  not 
possible  that  the  spirit  may  take  as  many  forms 
as  the  body,  as  many  forms  as  thought  ?  These 
spirits  are  the  many  souls  of  nature,  inexorable  to 
the  weak,  yet  obedient  to  those  who  obey. 

But  now  let  us  come  to  the  appearance  of  Banquo 
at  the  feast. 

The  whole  play  leads  up  to,  and  down  from,  this 
point.     It  is  here  that  are  pronounced  the  most 
terrible  words  heard  during  the  play,  here  that  is 
T  2  275 


^>  BANQUO  e> 

offered  the  most  amazing  impression  for  the  eye. 
And  in  order  to  reach  this  moment  decently, 
intelligently,  that  is  to  say,  artistically,  the  figures 
must  not  walk  about  on  the  ground  for  the  first 
two  acts  and  suddenly  appear  on  stilts  in  the 
third  act  or  line,  for  then  a  great  truth  will  appear 
as  a  great  lie,  Banquo's  ghost  as  nothing. 

We  must  open  this  play  high  up  in  an  atmosphere 
loftier  than  that  in  which  we  generally  grope,  and 
which  is  a  matter-of-fact,  put-on-your-boots  atmo- 
sphere ;  for  this  is  a  matter  of  fancy,  a  matter  of 
that  strangely  despised  thing,  the  imagination ;  that 
which  we  call  the  spiritual. 

We  should  be  conscious  of  the  desire  of  the  spirit 
to  see  the  woman  utterly  annihilated  herself  rather 
than  submit  to  the  influence  which  this  spirit 
brings  upon  the  flesh  as  a  test.  We  should  see  the 
horror  of  the  spirit  on  perceiving  the  triumph  of 
this  influence. 

Instead,  we  see  of  all  this  nothing  on  the  stage. 
We  do  not  know  why  the  witches  are  worrying 
these  two  people;  we  feel  that  it  is  rather  un- 
pleasant. But  that  is  not  the  feeling  which  should 
be  created  in  us.  We  see  bogies  and  imps  of  the 
cauldron,  and  pitchforks,  and  the  little  mosquito- 
like  beings  of  the  pantomimes,  but  we  never 
see  the  God,  the  Spirit,  which  we  ought  to  see; 
that  is  to  say,  the  beautiful  spirit,  that  patient, 
stern  being  who  demands  of  a  hero  at  least  the 
heroic. 

276 


o      UNWIELDY    MATERIAL     o 

Shakespeare's  characters  are  so  often  but  weak 
beings;  Lady  Macbeth  is  perhaps  the  weakest  of 
them  all,  and  if  that  is  the  beauty — and  unmis- 
takably it  is  a  great  beauty — it  is  the  beauty  of 
disease  and  not  the  supreme  beauty. 

Having  read  of  these  characters,  we  are  left  to 
ourselves  and  our  own  contemplation,  and  each  will 
add  that  thought  which  Shakespeare  left  to  be 
added  by  each.  There  is  great  freedom  permitted 
to  the  reader,  for  much  has  been  left  unsaid,  but  so 
much  has  also  been  said  that  nearly  all  is  indicated, 
and  to  the  imaginative  brain  these  spirits  are 
clearly  implied  and  the  fruits  of  the  imagination 
are  always  welcomed  by  the  unimaginative,  who 
devour  them  as  Eve  must  have  devoured  the 
forbidden  fruit. 

Therefore  when  a  stage-manager  happens  to  have 
imagination  he  must  also  set  before  the  people  the 
fruits  of  this  imagination. 

But  look  at  the  unwieldy  material  which  is 
tossed  to  him  !  What  can  he  do  with  rubbish 
such  as  scenery,  such  as  costumes,  such  as  moving 
figures  which  he  can  shove  here  and  there  and  place 
in  this  or  that  light  ?  Is  this  material  for  so  subtle 
a  thing  as  imagination  to  work  with  ?  Perhaps 
it  is;  perhaps  it  is  no  worse  than  marble  or  the 
material  used  for  erecting  a  cathedral ;  perhaps  all 
depends  upon  the  manner  of  the  use. 

Well,  then,  admitting  this,  let  the  stage-manager 
return  to  the  material  and  determine  to  shake  the 

277 


IS    THE    SPIRITUAL    SO    STRANGE!! 

dust  out  of  it  until  he  wakens  it  to  real  life ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  life  of  the  imagination.  For  there  is 
only  one  real  life  in  art,  and  that  is  this  life  of 
imagination.  The  imaginative,  that  is  the  real 
in  art,  and  in  no  modern  play  do  we  see  the  truth 
of  this  so  tremendously  revealed  as  in  Macbeth. 

It  is  all  very  well  for  some  people  to  talk  about 
Shakespeare  living  in  a  curiously  superstitious  age, 
or  choosing  a  theme  from  an  age  and  a  country 
which  was  soaked  in  superstition. 

Good  heavens !  is  the  idea  of  a  ghost,  is  the  idea 
of  a  spirit,  so  strange  ?  Why,  then  the  whole  of 
Shakespeare  is  strange  and  unnatural,  and  we 
should  hastily  burn  most  of  his  works,  for  we  want 
nothing  which  can  be  called  strange  and  unnatural 
in  the  twentieth  century.  We  want  something  we 
can  clearly  understand,  and,  as  represented  upon 
the  stage,  these  plays  are  not  clear  to  understand, 
for  the  foolish  appearance  of  a  spook  is  not  a  very 
understandable  thing,  though  the  reality  of  the 
presence  of  spirits  around  us  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
thing  which  all  ordinary  intelligences  should  be 
reminded  of. 

Yet  how  can  we  show  this  thing  properly  if  we 
take  as  the  main  and  primary  point  for  our  con- 
sideration Macbeth  and  his  wife,  Banquo  and  his 
horse,  and  the  thrones  and  the  tables,  and  let  these 
things  blind  us  to  the  real  issues  of  the  drama  ? 

Unless  we  see  these  spirits  before  we  begin  our 
work  we  shall  never  see  them  later  on.  For  who 

278 


A     PRACTICAL     WORD    OR    TWO 

can  see  a  spirit  by  looking  for  it  behind  an  act 
drop  ?  No,  the  man  who  would  show  these  plays 
as  Shakespeare,  perhaps,  might  wish  them  to  be 
shown  must  invest  every  particle  of  them  with  a 
sense  of  the  spiritual ;  and  to  do  so  he  must  entirely 
avoid  that  which  is  material,  merely  rational,  or 
rather,  that  which  exposes  only  its  material  shell, 
for  the  beholder  would  then  come  up  against 
something  thick  and  impenetrable  and  have  to 
return  to  that  swinging  rhythm  which  flows  not 
only  in  the  words  of  Shakespeare  but  in  his  very 
breath,  in  the  sweet  aroma  which  lingers  round  his 
plays. 

But  to  speak  more  practically  in  conclusion. 

Had  I  to  teach  a  young  man  who  would  venture 
to  achieve  this  I  would  act  as  follows :  I  would  take 
him  through  each  portion  of  the  play,  and  from 
each  act,  each  scene,  each  thought,  action,  or 
sound,  I  would  extract  some  spirit,  the  spirit  which 
is  there.  And  on  the  faces  of  the  actors,  on  their 
costumes,  and  on  the  scene,  by  the  light,  by  line, 
by  colour,  by  movement,  voice  and  every  means 
at  our  disposal,  I  would  repeatedly  and  repeatedly 
bring  upon  the  stage  some  reminder  of  the  presence 
of  these  spirits,  so  that  on  the  arrival  of  Banquo's 
ghost  at  the  feast  we  should  not  commence  to 
giggle,  but  should  find  it  just  and  terrible;  should 
be  so  keenly  expectant,  so  attuned  to  the  moment 
of  its  coming  that  we  should  be  conscious  of  its 

presence  even  before  we  saw  it  there. 

279 


IN    CONCLUSION 


It  would  be  the  natural  climax,  the  natural 
conclusion;  and  from  that  point  until  the  end  of 
the  play  I  would  remove  spirit  by  spirit  from 
the  faces,  from  the  dresses,  from  the  scenes,  until 
nothing  lay  upon  the  stage  but  the  body  of  Mac- 
beth, a  handful  of  ashes  left  after  the  passage  of  a 
devouring  fire. 

By  this  means  the  scorn  which  the  appearance 
of  a  spirit  arouses  in  us  would  be  averted;  and 
before  the  public  was  aware  of  it,  a  spirit-  world 
would  once  more  become  a  possibility,  our  minds 
would  again  open  to  receive  the  revelation  of  the 
unseen;  and  we  should  feel  the  truth  of  Hamlet's 
words,  "  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth,  Horatio,  than  are  dreamed  of  in  your 
philosophy." 

1910. 


280 


MACBETH 

Here  is  a  design  for  a  scene  which  is  in  two  parts. 

The  obvious  question,  always  thoughtlessly  put  to  me,  is,  whether 
people  on  the  right  of  the  theatre  would  see  what  was  in  the  left-hand 
opening,  and  vice  versa. 

It  never  occurs  to  some,  people  that  a  theatre  artist  gives  some  of 
his  lime  to  making  designs  for  modern  theatre  buildings — some  of 
his  time  to  designs  for  up-to-date  buildings — and  some  of  his  time 
to  buildings  which  sooner  or  later  will  be  built.  These  people  think 
an  artist  must  be  always  "  on  the  make.n 

This  scene  was  made  for  a  building  which  before  long  is  sure  to 
be  erected. 

I  have  even  made  some  designs  for  buildings  which  mankind 
never  will  erect. 

But  surely  there  is  time  for  all  these  things.  It  will  help  some  one, 
if  not  myself,  and  it  is  surely  still  permitted  to  an  artist  to  humour 
his  fancy  now  and  then. 

I  have  also  made  designs  for  five  or  six  different  kinds  of  theatre 
buildings,  and  not  merely  designs  but  plans. 

And  I  actually  have  the  "  impudence "  to  believe  that  these 
theatres  will  sooner  or  later  all  be  tested  by  actual  experiment.  For 
what  else  have  I  worked  ? 


^il  .\>r-  ill  -v\jl>i«  Ofclft  WttA  V 

lk4!  \!0  Ls.&a\  '.  ,' 


[Fate  page  280. 


IN  a  little  book,  which  I  published  in  1905,1  I 
ventured  to  agree  with  those  who  hold  the 
opinion  that  Shakespeare's  plays  were  written  for 
the  Reader  and  not  for  the  Stage.  It  seems  many 
hold  this  opinion.  Yet  it  was  a  satisfaction  to 
me  to  come  later  across  the  following  and  other 
sentences  in  Goethe's  writings — 

"  Shakespeare  belongs  by  rights  to  the  history 
of  poetry;  in  the  history  of  the  Theatre  he  only 
appears  casually." 

"  Shakespeare's  whole  method  of  proceeding  is 
one  which  encounters  a  certain  amount  of  im- 
practicability upon  the  actual  stage." 

"  The  very  contractedness  of  the  stage  forces 
him  to  circumscribe  himself." 

Goethe  comes  to  this  conclusion,  not  at  the 
beginning  of  his  life  but  at  the  end  of  it,  after  his 
experience  in  the  theatre  has  shown  him  that  litera- 
ture and  the  stage  are,  and  must  be,  independent 
one  of  the  other.  I  still  remain  of  the  same  opinion — 
that  Shakespeare's  plays  are  not  for  representation, 
more  especially  because  I  am  myself  now  work- 
ing on  several  Shakespearean  representations,  and 
therefore  have  occasion  for  passing  in  review  the 
many  different  "  editions,"  as  they  are  called,  of 

1  Reprinted  here,  p.  137. 
281 


Shakespeare,  especially  the  stage  editions,  and  I  am 
struck  by  one  fact,  and  it  is  this  :  that  the  people 
who  hold  that  Shakespeare  was  a  master  of 
theatrical  art  cut  away  from  these  plays  lines, 
passages — nay,  whole  scenes :  these  words,  pas- 
sages and  scenes  which,  they  say,  were  written 
for  the  stage. 

To  say  a  thing  is  perfect  and  then  to  mutilate 
it,  is  most  peculiar.  If  a  manager  wishes  to  cut 
a  play,  saying  it  will  be  better  understood  by  the 
public  if  he  does  so,  it  is  permissible  provided  he 
does  not  at  the  same  time  say  that  Shakespeare 
was  a  perfect  master  of  dramatic  art.  Drama  is 
for  the  people  if  ever  an  art  was  for  the  people,  and 
if  Shakespeare  has  not  made  himself  clear  to  the 
people  of  all  time,  the  actor-manager  is  not  going 
to  improve  matters  by  cutting  out  large  portions 
of  the  text. 

In  Hamlet  it  is  usual  for  that  long  passage  com- 
mencing, "  Now  all  occasions  do  inform  against 
me,"  to  be  removed  by  the  manager,  who  says  that 
it  does  not  "  help  the  play."  Now  this  is  a  most 
extraordinary  state  of  affairs,  that  managers  should 
be  permitted  to  say  what  does  or  does  not  "  help 
the  plays  "  of  Shakespeare,  after  Shakespeare  has 
himself  decided.  Other  passages  in  the  play  are 
removed  because  the  managers  hold  that  they  are 
indelicate  or  they  hold  that  the  audience  would 
consider  them  indelicate.  Cut  the  passage  between 
Ophelia  and  Hamlet  in  Act  III,  scene  ii,  when  he 

282 


is  lying  at  her  feet,  and  you  rob  the  character  of 
Hamlet  of  very  much  of  its  force.  Ophelia,  in- 
stead of  being  a  woman  of  intelligence,  becomes  an 
early  Victorian  debutante;  and  Hamlet,  instead  of 
being  a  man  of  his  time  and  suggesting  a  period 
which  was  more  than  a  period  of  manners,  becomes 
a  kind  of  preaching  curate. 

Of  course  the  Censor  would  object  to  this  and 
other  passages  in  Shakespeare,  and  he  would  be 
perfectly  right,  for  the  plays  were  not  written  for 
the  stage;  they  were  written  to  be  read.  If  you 
wish  to  act  them  act  them  in  their  entirety  or  do 
not  act  them  at  all.1  It  is  as  ridiculous  to  say  that 
the  omission  of  a  small  passage  is  not  going  to  harm 
such  a  work  as  to  say  that  the  omission  of  so  small 
a  portion  of  the  body  as  the  eye  does  not  injure 
the  whole. 

This  liberty  with  great  plays  is  no  sign  of  civiliza- 
tion; it  is  barbarous  in  the  extreme.  Another 
argument  advanced  for  acting  in  this  way  is  that 
the  performance  must  not  last  longer  than  a  certain 
time.  Time  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  performance. 
If  it  is  good  we  do  not  mind  how  long  it  takes  :  if 
it  is  bad  it  must  be  cut  short,  and  therefore  to 
advocate  a  short  time  is  to  imply  a  fear  on  the  part 
of  the  manager  that  the  play  is  going  to  be  badly 

1  "...  I  am  very  glad  to  find  that  I  can  endorse  Tieck's 
opinion  when  he  shows  himself  to  be  a  zealous  upholder  of  the 
unity,  indivisibility,  and  unassailableness  of  Shakespeare's  plays, 
and  insists  on  their  being  performed  in  their  entirety  and  without 
revision  or  modification  of  any  kind." — GOETHE. 

283 


o  THE    'TIME    LIMIT1  *> 

represented.  Can  one  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing  ?  Then,  too,  it  is  quite  possible  to  perform 
a  play  of  Shakespeare  in  its  entirety  in  an  evening 
provided  the  appliance  for  shifting  the  scenery  is 
not  so  absurdly  elaborate  that  it  takes  twenty 
minutes  to  change  each  act,  and  provided  that  the 
actors  do  not  pause  too  long  over  each  syllable, 
but  exercise  their  brains  to  think  a  trifler  faster. 
It  is  this  slow  delivery  of  Shakespeare's  lines  which 
has  made  Shakespeare  a  bore  to  so  many  people. 
Here  in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  we  have  passionate 
scenes  of  an  amazing  description,  far  more  amazing 
than  in  the  plays  of  the  south,  and  yet  we  drawl 
them  and  crawl  them  and  are  surprised  when  a 
Grasso  comes  to  England  and  shows  us  how  we 
should  speak,  act  and  reveal  the  suddenness  and 
madness  of  passion.  We  seem  to  forget  this  fact, 
that  passion  is  a  kind  of  madness.  We  bring  it 
to  a  logical  attitude  and  we  deliver  it  with  the 
voice  of  the  judge  or  the  mathematician.  It  seems 
to  have  something  to  do  with  the  totting  up  of 
accounts ;  thus  with  us  it  is  a  shopman,  not  Othello, 
who  is  throttling  Desdemona.  The  emotional 
actors  in  England  ought  not  to  be  content  with 
themselves  for  not  waking  up  and  sweeping  all  these 
too  deliberate  and  stodgy  actors  off  the  stage  and 
out  of  the  theatres. 

Would  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  be  then  inter- 
preted as  they  should  be  ?  No,  not  even  then. 
Not  if  the  finest  and  most  passionate  actors  in 

284 


PASSION    A    KIND    OF    MADNESS 

the  world  were  to  come  together  and  attempt  to 
perform  Hamlet  could  the  right  representation  of 
Hamlet  be  given,  for  I  fear  to  represent  Hamlet 
rightly  is  an  impossibility. 


1908. 


285 


KEALISM  AND  THE  ACTOR 


OU  ask  me  if  I  consider  Realism  in  acting  to  be 
a  frank  representation  of  human  nature.  Yes. 
Realism  is  exactly  this  :  a  frank  representation  of 
human  nature.  The  modern  writers  and  painters 
attest  to  this  by  what  they  write  of  and  paint,  and 
by  the  way  in  which  they  write  and  paint  it. 

And  because  the  realists  attempt  to  represent 
Nature  so  frankly  (which  frankness  they  call  truth 
and  which  generally  borders  upon  brutality),  and 
because  this  frankness  is  no  fruit,  no  blossom,  but 
merely  the  roots  of  a  new  growth,  so  I  believe  that 
the  actor  will  never  ask  for  the  same  liberty  as  the 
writers  and  painters  of  to-day,  that  he  may  give 
these  brutalities  their  "  counterfeit  presentment  " 
with  all  accuracy  of  detail  at  command. 

I  can  call  to  mind  no  actor  so  lacking  in  intelli- 
gence as  to  desire  to  present  with  all  its  actuality 
the  moment  of  death  as  expressed  by  the  modern 
realist  in  literature  and  painting,  or  the  moments 
of  love  as  expressed  by  these  same  frank  and  most, 
most  blind  leaders. 

The  realists  may  claim  that  they  are  not  con- 
cerned so  much  with  the  subjects  they  treat  of  as 
with  the  manner  in  which  they  treat  these  subjects. 
If  so,  then,  is  it  a  most  extraordinary  fact  that  the 
realists  only  concern  themselves  with  what  is  ugly 
or  brutal,  and  always  with  what  the  idealists  have 
given  so  much  thought  to  veil? 

286 


REALISM    AND    THE    ACTOR 

The  question  you  forgot  to  put  me  is  whether 
the  public  would  allow  the  actor  to  express  the  same 
feelings  and  the  same  incidents  as  both  idealistic 
and  realistic  writers  have  somehow  or  other  won 
the  right  to  express. 

What  is  the  difference  between  the  picture  and 
the  word,  and  the  living,  breathing  actuality  ? 
Why,  even  the  public  that  sits  in  the  pit  of  a 
theatre  feels  the  difference  and  would  refuse  to 
let  the  actor  reveal  what  it  allows  Milton  and 
Rabelais  to  reveal.  Then  how  can  there  be  a 
shadow  of  doubt  that  the  actor  not  only  should 
not  be  permitted  the  same  liberty  as  the  writer  or 
painter,  but  actually  is  not  permitted  that  licence  ? 

Realism  is  a  vulgar  means  of  expression  bestowed 
upon  the  blind.  Thus  we  have  the  clear-sighted 
singing :  "  Beauty  is  Truth,  Truth  Beauty — that 
is  all  ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know." 
The  blind  are  heard  croaking :  "  Beauty  is  Realism, 
Realism  Beauty — that  is  all  I  know  on  earth,  and 
all  I  care  to  know — don't  cher  know !  " 

The  difference  is  all  a  matter  of  love.  He  who 
loves  the  earth  sees  beauty  everywhere  :  he  is  a 
god  transforming  by  knowledge  the  incomplete 
into  the  complete.  He  can  heal  the  lame  and 
the  sick,  can  blow  courage  into  the  weary,  and  he 
can  even  learn  how  to  make  the  blind  see.  The 
power  has  always  been  possessed  by  the  artist, 
who,  in  my  opinion,  rules  the  earth. 

It  is  quite  likely  that  Realism  may  appeal  at  one 
287 


REALISM    AND    THE    ACTOR 

period  to  the  public  and  not  at  another  period. 
The  public  is  not  concerned  with  the  quest  of  know- 
ledge; no,  not  even  with  the  wisdoms  of  wisdom, 
that  simple  everyday  atom  of  truth  which  waits, 
unseen,  everlastingly  everywhere.  The  public  is 
concerned  with  the  quest  of  money — and,  with 
money,  that  fat  and  brutal  power  to  revenge 
which  it  can  bring — that  power  to  give  like  a 
lady  a  handshake  when  a  kiss  is  too  little;  that 
power  to  give  like  a  lord  ten  pounds  to  a  "  po'r 
beggah,"  and  that  power  to  give  a  little  charity 
when  only  love  is  enough.  And  so  long  as  the 
public  is  made  up  of  this  class  of  monstrous  mean- 
ness, of  that  which  gives  half  or  three-quarters 
instead  of  all,  so  long  will  it  love  its  Realism,  which 
is  the  short  measure  or  meanness  of  the  artist. 

Anyhow,  there  is  nothing  which  need  cause 
playgoers  anxiety;  there  is  no  need  for  them  to 
feel  depressed ;  furious,  if  you  like,  but  depressed  ? 
not  a  whit :  for  the  limited  section  of  playgoers 
who  love  beauty  and  detest  Realism  is  a  small 
minority  of  about  six  million  souls.  They  are 
scattered  here  and  there  over  the  earth.  They 
seldom,  if  ever,  go  to  the  modern  theatre.  That 
is  why  I  love  them,  and  intend  to  unite  them. 

FORTE  DE'  MARSH,  1908. 


288 


OPEN-AIE     THEATEES 

IT  seems  to  me  that  the  Theatre  has  nearly 
always  longed  to  be  "  natural,"  that  the  play- 
wrights, actors  and  scene-painters,  have  nearly 
always  struggled  to  free  themselves  from  being 
"  theatrical."  Even  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  most  things  gloried  in  a  sumptuous  artificial- 
ity gorgeous  in  silver  gilt,  there  appears  a  master 
who  attempts  to  make  all  things  "natural  "  again ; 
and  yet  Moliere's  plays  seem  to  us  to-day  anything 
but  natural,  and  their  ancient  manner  of  repre- 
sentation strikes  us  as  very  artificial. 

Not  for  one  but  for  many  centuries  men  have 
crowned  their  chosen  playwright  for  that  he  was 
more  "  natural  "  than  his  fellows,  yet  the  plays 
of  Shakespeare  no  longer  strike  us  as  "  natural  " ; 
even  Robertson  with  his  Caste  and  Ours,  which 
were  looked  upon  as  very  natural  a  few  years  ago, 
and  their  manner  of  representation  quite  like  life, 
to-day  seem  antiquated,  somewhat  artificial. 

There  are  some  who  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
earlier  plays  of  Sir  Arthur  Pinero  and  the  later 
plays  by  Mr.  Shaw  have  grown  artificial. 

Scene-painting,  too.  A  hundred  years  ago  Clark- 
son  Stanfield  in  England  was  painting  scenery 
which  amazed  the  critics  by  its  "  natural  "  appear- 
ance, and  that,  too,  after  they  had  known  the  work 
of  de  Loutherbourg ;  and  soon  Stanfield  was  looked 
u  289 


o  ACTORS  ^ 

on  as  unnatural,  for  Telbin  the  Elder  gave  them 
what  they  asserted  was  very  Nature  itself ;  and  yet 
hardly  have  they  said  so  before  they  eat  their  words, 
turn  their  backs  on  Telbin,  and  find  true  Nature  in 
Hawes  Craven,  only  to  put  him  away  a  little  later 
for  Harker,  who  "  at  last  paints  Nature  for  us." 

Nor  is  it  any  better  with  the  acting.  The 
Kembles  and  their  grand  artificiality  had  to  make 
room  for  Edmund  Kean,  who  in  thirty  years  from 
then  was  looked  on  as  anything  but  natural,  for 
was  not  Macready  "  more  natural "  ?  And  in  a  few 
years'  time  all  of  these  actors  seemed  to  us  stilted 
and  artificial  when  Henry  Irving  appeared.  And 
now  we  talk  of  Irving's  artificiality  by  the  side  of 
Antoine's  natural  acting.  "It  is  Nature  itself," 
cry  the  critics,  and  soon  Antoine's  natural  acting 
is  to  become  mere  artifice  by  the  side  of  the  acting 
of  Stanislawsky. 

What,  then,  are  all  these  manifestations  of  this 
"  Nature  "  ? 

I  find  them  one  and  all  to  be  merely  examples  of 
a  new  artificiality — the  artificiality  of  naturalism. 

Dramatists,  actors,  scenic  artists  are  under  a 
spell — do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  Sleeping 
Beauty  ? — and  the  spell  must  be  broken  before 
they  can  awake.  To  break  it  will  be  at  once  most 
hard  and  most  easy — most  hard  to  those  who  were 
born  to  sleep,  most  easy  for  one  born  to  awaken; 
but  most  assuredly  until  this  spell  be  broken,  utterly 
and  entirely  destroyed,  all  the  plays,  acting  and 

290 


*s>  ACTORS  o 

scenes  on  the  stage  of  Europe  must  and  will  remain 
theatrical.1 

I  do  not  think  the  time  has  arrived  when  I  can 
give  you  a  hint  of  how  to  break  this  spell  which 
lies  over  the  European  Theatre ;  besides,  my  purpose 
here  is  to  put  a  question  to  you,  not  to  answer 
one.  It  might  be  borne  in  mind  that  I  have  put  my 
question  to  you  without  any  thought  of  what  is 
called  its  "  practicality,"  and  that  the  answers 
must  be  made  in  the  same  spirit.  There  is  always 
a  very  natural  desire  in  man  (born  of  a  sound 
caution)  to  keep  things  on  a  practical  basis,  and 
when  we  discuss  economic  or  hygienic  questions  it 
is  as  well  to  be  as  practical  as  possible. 

But  where  the  question  takes  us  outside  that 
radius,  and  when  we  enter  into  discussion  of  those 
things  which  emanate  from  the  spirit,  such  as  the 
arts  or  philosophy,  we  might  do  well  to  consider 
them  in  as  ideal  a  manner  as  they  deserve ;  we  can 
later  on  return  to  earth  and  attempt  their  symbol  - 
ization.  My  question  is  this — 

Do  you  feel  that  the  Open-air  Theatre  is  the  right 
place  in  which  to  present  the  people  with  that 

1  Here  we  have  to  acknowledge  that  a  certain  charm  (the 
very  essence  and  reflection  of  that  Romance  which  comes  to  us 
in  Books  .  .  .)  lies  in  the  pretty  or  swaggering  artifice  of  the 
"  theatrical."  We  most  of  us  love  the  fun  of  the  sham,  and 
admire  the  playfulness  of  tinsel,  powder  and  rouge  ;  but  all  of  us 
in  the  Theatre,  from  the  first  actor  of  the  realm  to  the  last  call- 
boy  of  the  provinces,  are  longing  with  all  our  hearts  for  the 
whole  spirit  of  Nature  to  take  possession  of  this,  the  home  which 
we  love. 

291 


THE    QUESTION 


which  we  call  the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  or  do  you 
feel  that  a  roofed-in  theatre  is  better  ?  The  first 
supplies  us  with  natural  conditions,  the  second 
with  artificial  conditions. 

1909. 


292 


*  SYMBOLISM1  0 

"IT  IS  IN  AND  THROUGH  SYMBOLS  THAT  MAN,  CON- 
SCIOUSLY OR  UNCONSCIOUSLY,  LIVES,  WORKS  AND  HAS 
HIS  BEING:  THOSE  AGES,  MOREOVER,  ARE  ACCOUNTED 
THE  NOBLEST  WHICH  CAN  THE  BEST  RECOGNIZE  SYM- 
BOLICAL WORTH,  AND  PRIZE  IT  HIGHEST." — CARLYLE. 

SYMBOLISM  is  really  quite  proper;  it  is  sane, 
orderly,  and  it  is  universally  employed.  It 
cannot  be  called  theatrical  if  by  theatrical  we 
mean  something  flashy,  yet  it  is  the  very  essence  of 
the  Theatre  if  we  are  to  include  its  art  among  the 
fine  arts. 

Symbolism  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of — it  is 
delicacy  itself;  it  is  understood  as  easily  by  the 
ploughman  or  sailor  as  by  kings  and  other  men 
in  high  places.  Some  there  are  who  are  afraid  of 
symbolism,  but  it  is  difficult  to  discover  why,  and 
these  persons  sometimes  grow  very  indignant  and 
insinuate  that  the  reason  why  they  dislike  symbol- 
ism is  because  there  is  something  unhealthy  and 
harmful  about  it.  "  We  live  in  a  realistic  age," 
is  the  excuse  they  put  forward.  But  they  cannot 
explain  how  it  is  that  they  make  use  of  symbols 
to  tell  us  this,  nor  how  it  is  that  all  their  lives  they 
have  made  use  of  this  same  thing  which  they  find 
so  incomprehensible. 

For  not  only  is  Symbolism  at  the  roots  of  all 

1  ' f  Symbolism :  A  systematic  use  of  symbols ;  a  symbol ;  a 
visible  sign  of  an  idea." — WEBSTER. 

293 


S Y  M  BOLS 


art,  it  is  at  the  roots  of  all  life,  it  is  only  by  means 
of  symbols  that  life  becomes  possible  for  us;  we 
employ  them  all  the  time. 

The  letters  of  the  alphabet  are  symbols,  used 
daily  by  sociable  races.  The  numerals  are  symbols, 
and  chemistry  and  mathematics  employ  them. 
All  the  coins  of  the  world  are  symbols,  and  business 
men  rely  upon  them.  The  crown  and  the  sceptre 
of  the  kings  and  the  tiara  of  the  popes  are  symbols. 
The  works  of  poets  and  painters,  of  architects  and 
sculptors,, are  full  of  symbolism;  Chinese,  Egyptian, 
Greek,  Roman,  and  the  modern  artists  since  the 
time  of  Constantine  have  understood  and  valued 
the  symbol.  Music  only  became  intelligible  through 
the  employment  of  symbols,  and  is  symbolic  in  its 
essence.  All  forms  of  salutation  and  leave-taking 
are  symbolic  and  employ  symbols,  and  the  last  act 
of  affection  rendered  to  the  dead  is  to  erect  a 
symbol  over  them. 

I  think  there  is  no  one  who  should  quarrel  with 
Symbolism — nor  fear  it. 

1910. 


294 


THE    EXQUISITE    AND 
THE   PRECIOUS       0        0 

SWINE  cannot  appreciate  pearls.  This  has  at 
last  become  a  well-known  fact,  acknowledged 
by  the  majority. 

The  majority  of  people  known  to  us  certainly 
appreciate  pearls;  therefore  the  majority  may  be 
said  to  appreciate  that  which  is  both  exquisite 
and  precious. 

I  do  not  care  whether  the  pearls  are  appreciated 
because  they  are  so  rare  and  so  costly — all  the 
better  that  they  are  so — or  because  they  look  so 
lovely.  Either  reason  is  good  enough,  for  the 
result  is  the  same.  Wonder  and  excitement  are 
aroused,  the  things  are  sure  to  be  handled  tenderly, 
and  the  wearer  will  probably  hold  her  head  more 
charmingly  than  before.  Thus  we  see  that  to  be 
near  the  precious  and  the  exquisite  is  to  become 
more  exquisite,  more  precious,  ourselves. 

It  is  a  pity  that  the  Theatre  is  neither  exquisite 
nor  precious. 

I  want,  in  place  of  violent  expression  of  violent 
emotions  and  ideas,  more  exquisite  expression  of 
more  precious  emotions  and  ideas. 

In  place  of  vulgar  materials,  such  as  prose,  coarse 
wooden  boards,  canvas,  paint,  papier  mdche  and 
powder,  I  would  like  more  precious  materials  to 
be  employed:  Poetry,  or  even  that  far  more 
precious  Silence — ebony  and  ivory — silver  and 
gold — the  precious  woods  of  rare  trees — exquisite 

295 


MATERIAL    OF    THE    THEATRE 

silks  unusually  dyed — marble  and  alabaster — and 
fine  brains. 

The  public  is  no  fool  :  it  will  not  value  a  lump  of 
coal  above  a  diamond;  it  prefers  silk  and  ivory 
any  day  to  wood  and  canvas.  A  critic  who  denies 
this  is  a  duffer. 

So  then,  gentlemen,  I  ask  you  to  consider  the 
imitation  Lily  of  the  Theatre  and  to  compare  it  with 
that  more  precious  species,  with  her  of  the  field. 

And  thanking  you  for  past  criticisms,  I  ask  you 
to  criticize  justly  the  present  majterial  of  the  modern 
theatre.  If  you  do  so  even  with  tolerance  you  will 
rouse  us  all  to  a  state  bordering  upon  exquisite 
rage;  but  you  will  confer  upon  the  Theatre  an 
honour — the  honour  of  believing  that  it  is  still 
open  to  noble  criticism,  still  worthy  of  judgment 
pronounced  upon  its  essentials,  and  not  alone  upon 
its  non-essential  details. 

If  a  fig-tree  should  bear  thistles  would  you 
criticize  the  prickly  result  ?  Would  you  waste 
your  time  protesting  against  the  quality  of  the 
thistle  and  write  it  down  an  indifferent  specimen 
and  ask  for  better  ? 

Then  why  do  you  criticize  the  false  product  of 
our  noble  art  ? 

I  pray  you  to  study  the  Nature  of  the  art  of  the 
Theatre,  so  that  with  your  assistance  once  again 
the  flower  and  fruit  of  it  may  be  found  to  be  both 
exquisite  and  precious. 

1910. 

Richard  Clay  #  Sons,  Limited,  London  and  Bv.ngay. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBBARYFAOyTY 


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